THE  UPWARD  PATH 


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THE  UPWARD  PATH 

A  READER  FOR  COLORED 
CHILDREN 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 

ROBERT  R.   MOTON 

PRINCIPAL  OF  TTJSKEGEE   INSTITUTE 


COMPILED  BY 

MYRON  T.   PRITCHARD 

PRINCIPAL,    EVERETT  SCHOOL,    BOSTON 

AND 

MARY  WHITE  OVINGTON 

CHAIRMAN  OF  THE  BOARD  OF  THE  NATIONAL  ASSOCIATION  FOR  THE 
ADVANCEMENT  OF  COLORED  PEOPLE 


NEW  YORK 
HARGOURT,  BRACE  AND  HOWE 


COPYRIGHT,     1920,    BY 
HARCOURT,   BRACE    AND   HOWE,    INC. 


FOREWORD 

To  the  present  time,  there  has  been  no  collection  of 
stories  and  poems  by  Negro  writers,  which  colored 
children  could  read  with  interest  and  pleasure  and  in 
which  they  could  find  a  mirror  of  the  traditions  and 
aspirations  of  their  race.  Realizing  this  lack,  Myron  T. 
Pritchard,  Principal  of  the  Everett  School,  Boston,  and 
Mary  White  Ovington,  Chairman  of  the  Board  of  the 
National  Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Colored 
People,  have  brought  together  poems,  stories,  sketches 
and  addresses  which  bear  eloquent  testimony  to  the 
richness  of  the  literary  product  of  our  Negro  writers. 
It  is  the  hope  that  this  little  book  will  find  a  large 
welcome  in  all  sections  of  the  country  and  will  bring 
gQod  cheer  and  encouragement  to  the  young  readers 
who  have  so  largely  the  fortunes  of  their  race  in  their 
own  hands. 

The  editors  desire  to  express  thanks  to  the  authors 
who  have  generously  granted  the  use  of  their  work. 
Especial  acknowledgement  is  due  to  Mrs.  Booker  T. 
Washington  for  the  selection  from  Up  from  Slavery; 
to  The  Crisis  for  "The  Rondeau,"  by  Jessie  Fauset, 
"The  Brave  Son,"  by  Alston  W.  Burleigh,  "The  Black 
Fairy,"  by  Fenton  Johnson,  "The  Children  at  Easter," 


vi  Foreword 

by  C.  Emily  Frazier,  "His  Motto,"  by  Lottie  B.  Dixon, 
''Negro  Soldiers/'  by  Roscoe  C.  Jamison,  ''A  Legend 
of  the  Blue  Jay,"  by  Ruth  Anna  Fisher;  to  the  Ameri- 
can Book  Company  for  "The  Dog  and  the  Clever  Rab- 
bit," from  Animal  Tales,  by  A.  O.  Stafford;  to  Frederick 
A.  Stokes  and  Company  for  "A  Negro  Explorer  at  the 
North  Pole,"  by  Matthew  A.  Henson;  to  A.  C.  McClurg 
and  Company  for  the  selection  from  Souls  of  Black 
Folk,  by  W.  E.  B.  DuBois;  to  Henry  Holt  and  Com- 
pany for  the  selection  from  The  Negro,  by  W.  E.  B.  Du- 
Bois; to  the  Cornhill  Company  for  the  selections  from 
The  Band  of  Gideon,  by  Joseph  F.  Cotter,  Jr.,  and  The 
Menace  of  the  South,  by  William  J.  Edwards ;  to  Dodd, 
Mead  and  Company  for  "Ere  Sleep  Comes  Down"  and 
the  "Boy  and  the  Bayonet"  (copyright  1907),  by  Paul 
Laurence  Dunbar. 


CONTENTS 

Paob 

The  Boy  and  the  Bayonet Paid  Laurence  Dunhar 1 

Beginnings  of  a  Mississippi  School.  William  H.  Holtzclaw 13 

Up  from  Slavery Booker  T.  Washington 15 

Booker  T.  Washington William  H.  Holtzclaw 20 

Anna-Margaret Augusta  Bird 22 

Charity H.  Cordelia  Ray 28 

My  First  School W.E.  B.  DuBais 29 

Ere  Sleep  Comes  Down Paid  Laurence  Dunhar 38 

The  Land  of  Laughter Angelina  W.  Grimke 40 

The  Web  of  Circumstance Charles  W.  Chesnutt 47 

Is  THE  Game  Worth  the  Candle?.  .James  E.  Shepard 48 

O  Black  and  Unknown  Bards James  Weldon  Johnson ....  54 

The  Greatest  Menace  of  the  SoTjTH.William  J.  Edwards 56 

The  Enchanted  Shell H.  Cordelia  Ray 63 

Behind  a  Georgia  Mule James  Weldon  Johnson ....  66 

Hayti  and  Toussaint  L'ouverture..  .W.  E.  B.  DuBois 72 

His  Motto Lottie  Burrell  Dixon 77 

The  Months H.  Cordelia  Ray 86 

The  Colored  Cadet  at  West  Vonfr. Lieut.  Henry  Ossian  Flipper, 

U.S.A 90 

An  Hymn  to  the  Evening Phyllis  Whealley 95 

Going  to  School  Under  DiFFicuLTiEsTTiWiam  H.  Holtzclaw. ..'...  96 

The  Brave  Son Alston  W.  Burleigh 101 

Victory Walter  F.  White 102 

The  Dog  and  the  Clever  Rabbit.  ..A.O.  Stafford 109 

The  Boy  and  the  Ideal Joseph  S.  Cotter 112 

Children  at  Easter C.  Emily  Frazier 114 

Abraham  Lincoln William  Pickens 117 

Rondeau Jessie  Fauset 120 

How  I  Escaped Frederick  Douglass 121 

Frederick  Douglass W.  H.  Crogman 128 

Incident  in  the  IjIfe  op  Frederick 

Douglass 134 

Animal  Life  in  the  Congo William  Henry  Sheppard. . .  135 

Cooperation  and  the  Latin  Class... LiZZian  B,  Witten. 143 

vii 


viii  Contents 

Page 

The  Band  op  GroEON Joseph  F.  Cotter,  Jr 148 

The   Home   of   the   Colored   Girl 

Beautiful Azalia  Hockley 150 

The  Knighting  of  Donald LiUian  B,  Witten 153 

A  Negro  Explorer  at  the  North 

Pole MaMhew  A,  Henson 159 

Benjamin  Banneker William  Wdls  Brown 166 

The  Negro  Race Charles  W.  Anderson 168 

Paul  Cuffe John  W.  Cromwell 169 

The  Black  Fairy Fenton  Johnson 175 

It's  a  Long  Way William  Stanley  Braithwaile  181 

Negro  Music  that  Stirred  France  .  Emmett  J,  Scott 182 

November  11,  1918 187 

Sea  Lyric William  Stanley  Braithwaite  189 

A  Negro  Woman's  Hospitality Leila  A.  Pendleton 190 

Record  of   "The  Old  Fifteenth" 

in  France Emmett  J.  Scott 192 

Negro  Soldiers Roscoe  C.  Jamison 194 

The  "Devil  Bush"  and  the  "Gree- 

GREE  Bush" George  W.  Ellis 195 

Evening  Prayer H.  Cordelia  Ray 199 

The  Strenuous  Life Silas  X.  Floyd 200 

O  Little  David,  Play  on  Your  Harp.  Joseph  F.  Cotter,  Jr 202 

A  Day  at  Kalk  Bay,  South  Africa  .  .L.  J.  Coppin 203 

Bishop  Atticus  G.  Haygood W.  H.  Crogman 205 

How  T;^o  Colored  Captains  Fell  .  .  Ralph  W.  Tyler 207 

The  Young  Warrior James  Weldon  Johnson ....  208 

Whole  Regiments  Decorated Emmett  J.  Scott 209 

On  Planting  Artichokes Daniel  A.  Rudd  and  Theo- 
dore Bond 210 

A  Song  of  Thanks Edward  Smyth  Jones 214 

Our  Dumb  Animals Silas  X.  Floyd 216 

A  Legend  of  the  Blue  Jay Ruth  Anna  Fisher 218 

David  Livingstone Benjamin  Brawley 220 

Ira  Aldridge William  J.  Simmons 224 

Fifty  Years James  Weldon  Johnson ....   228 

A  Great  Kingdom  in  the  Congo  ....  William  Henry  Sheppard  . . .  233 

Pillars  of  the  State William  C.  Jason 249 

Oath  of  Afro-American  Youth Kelly  Miller 250 

Notes 251 


INTRODUCTION 

The  Negro  has  been  in  America  just  about  three 
hundred  years  and  in  that  time  he  has  become  inter- 
twined in  all  the  history  of  the  nation.  He  has  fought 
in  her  wars;  he  has  endured  hardships  with  her 
pioneers;  he  has  toiled  in  her  fields  and  factories;  and 
the  record  of  some  of  the  nation's  greatest  heroes  is  in 
large  part  the  story  of  their  service  and  sacrifice  for 
this  people. 

The  Negro  arrived  in  America  as  a  slave  in  1619, 
just  one  year  before  the  Pilgrims  arrived  at  Plymouth 
in  search  of  freedom.  Since  then  their  lot  has  not  al- 
ways been  a  happy  one,  but  nevertheless,  in  spite  of 
difficulties  and  hardships,  the  race  has  learned  many 
valuable  lessons  in  its  conflict  with  the  American 
civilization.  As  a  slave  the  lessons  of  labor,  of  con- 
structive endeavor,  of  home-life  and  religion  were 
learned,  even  if  the  opportunity  was  not  always  present 
to  use  these  lessons  to  good  advantage. 

After  slavery  other  lessons  were  learned  in  their 
order.  Devoted  self-sacrificing  souls  —  soldiers  of 
human  brotherhood  —  took  up  the  task  in  the  school- 
room which  their  brothers  began  on  the  battlefield. 
Here  it  was  that  the  Negro  learned  the  history  of 


X  Introduction 

America,  of  the  deeds  of  her  great  men,  the  stirring 
events  which  marked  her  development,  the  ideals  that 
made  America  great.  And  so  well  have  they  been 
learned,  that  to-day  there  are  no  more  loyal  Americans 
than  the  twelve  million  Negroes  that  make  up  so  large 
a  part  of  the  nation. 

But  the  race  has  other  things  yet  to  learn:  The 
education  of  any  race  is  incomplete  unless  the  members 
of  that  race  know  the  history  and  character  of  its  own 
people  as  well  as  those  of  other  peoples.  The  Negro 
has  yet  to  learn  of  the  part  which  his  own  race  has 
played  in  making  America  great ;  has  yet  to  learn  of  the 
noble  and  heroic  souls  among  his  own  people,  whose 
achievements  are  praiseworthy  among  any  people.  A 
number  of  books  —  poetry,  history  and  fiction  —  have 
been  written  by  Negro  authors  in  which  the  life  of  their 
own  people  has  been  faithfully  and  attractively  set 
forth ;  but  until  recently  no  effort  has  been  made  on  a 
large  scale  to  see  that  Negro  boys  and  girls  became 
acquainted  with  these  books  and  the  facts  they  con- 
tained concerning  their  people. 

In  this  volume  the  publishers  have  brought  together 
a  number  of  selections  from  the  best  literary  works  of 
Negro  authors,  through  which  these  young  people 
may  learn  more  of  the  character  and  accomplishments 
of  the  worthy  members  of  their  race.  Such  matter 
is  both  informing  and  inspiring,  and  no  Negro  boy  or 
girl  can  read  it  without  feeling  a  deeper  pride  in  his 


Introduction  xi 

own  race.  The  selections  are  each  calculated  to  teach 
a  valuable  lesson,  and  all  make  a  direct  appeal  to  the 
best  impulses  of  the  human  heart. 

For  a  number  of  years  several  educational  institu- 
tions for  Negro  youths  have  conducted  classes  in  Negro 
history  with  a  similar  object  in  view.  The  results  of 
these  classes  have  been  most  gratifying  and  the  present 
volume  is  a  commendable  contribution  to  the  literature 
of  such  a  course. 

Robert  R.  Moton 

TusKEGEE  Institute,  Ala., 
June  30,  1920 


To  the  man  in  the  tower  the  world  below  him  is 
likely  to  look  very  small.  Men  look  like  ants  and  all 
the  bustle  and  stir  of  their  hurrying  lives  seems  piti- 
fully confused  and  aimless.  But  the  man  in  the  street 
who  is  looking  and  striving  upward  is  in  a  different 
situation.  However  poor  his  present  plight,  the  thing 
he  aims  at  and  is  striving  toward  stands  out  clear  and 
distinct  above  him,  inspiring  him  with  hope  and  ambi- 
tion in  his  struggle  upward.  For  the  man  who  is  down 
there  is  always  something  to  hope  for,  always  some- 
thing to  be  gained.  The  man  who  is  down,  looking  up, 
may  catch  a  glimpse  now  and  then  of  heaven,  but  the 
man  who  is  so  situated  that  he  can  only  look  down  is 
pretty  likely  to  see  another  and  quite  different  place. 

BOOKER    T.   WASHINGTON 


THE  UPWARD  PATH 

THE  BOY  AND  THE  BAYONET 

PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

It  was  June,  and  nearing  the  closing  time  of  school. 
The  air  was  full  of  the  sound  of  bustle  and  preparation 
for  the  final  exercises,  field  day,  and  drills.  Drills  es- 
pecially, for  nothing  so  gladdens  the  heart  of  the  Wash- 
ington mother,  be  she  black  or  white,  as  seeing  her 
boy  in  the  blue  cadet's  uniform,  marching  proudly  to 
the  huzzas  of  an  admiring  crowd.  Then  she  forgets 
the  many  nights  when  he  has  come  in  tired  out  and 
dusty  from  his  practice  drill,  and  feels  only  the  pride 
and  elation  of  the  result. 

Although  Tom  did  all  he  could  outside  of  study 
hours,  there  were  many  days  of  hard  work  for  Hannah 
Davis,  when  her  son  went  into  the  High  School.  But 
she  took  it  upon  herself  gladly,  since  it  gave  Bud  the 
chance  to  learn,  that  she  wanted  him  to  have.  When, 
however,  he  entered  the  Cadet  Corps  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  the  first  steps  toward  the  fulfilment  of  all  her 
hopes  had  been  made.  It  was  a  hard  pull  to  her,  get- 
ting the  uniform,  but  Bud  himself  helped  manfully, 
and  when  his  mother  saw  him  rigged  out  in  all  his 

1 


2  The  Upward  Path 

regimentals,  she  felt  that  she  had  not  toiled  in  vain. 
And  in  fact  it  was  worth  all  the  trouble  and  expense 
just  to  see  the  joy  and  pride  of  ^little  sister/'  who 
adored  Bud. 

As  the  time  for  the  competitive  drill  drew  near  there 
was  an  air  of  suppressed  excitement  about  the  little 
house  on  "D"  Street,  where  the  three  lived.  All  day- 
long "little  sister,'^  who  was  never  very  well  and  did 
not  go  to  school,  sat  and  looked  out  of  the  window  on 
the  uninteresting  prospect  of  a  dusty  thoroughfare 
lined  on  either  side  with  dull  red  brick  houses,  all  of 
the  same  ugly  pattern,  interspersed  with  older,  uglier, 
and  viler  frame  shanties.  In  the  evening  Hannah  hur- 
ried home  to  get  supper  against  the  time  when  Bud 
should  return,  hungry  and  tired  from  his  drilling,  and 
the  chore  work  which  followed  hard  upon  its  heels. 

Things  were  all  cheerful,  however,  for  as  they  ap- 
plied themselves  to  the  supper,  the  boy,  with  glowing 
face,  would  tell  just  how  his  company  "A"  was  getting 
on,  and  what  they  were  going  to  do  to  companies  *'B'' 
and  "C."  It  was  not  boasting  so  much  as  the  expres- 
sion of  a  confidence,  founded  upon  the  hard  work  he 
was  doing,  and  Hannah  and  the  "little  sister"  shared 
that  with  him. 

The  child  often,  listening  to  her  brother,  would  clap 
her  hands  or  cry,  "Oh,  Bud,  you're  just  splendid  an'  I 
know  you'll  beat  'em." 

"If  hard  work'll  beat  'em,  we've  got  'em  beat,"  Bud 


The  Boy  and  the  Bayonet  3 

would  reply,  and  Hannah,  to  add  an  admonitory  check 
to  her  own  confidence,  would  break  in  with,  ''Now, 
don't  you  be  too  sho';  dey  ain't  been  no  man  so  good 
dat  dey  wasn't  somebody  bettah."  But  all  the  while 
her  face  and  manner  were  disputing  what  her  words 
expressed. 

The  great  day  came,  and  it  was  a  wonderful  crowd 
of  people  that  packed  the  great  baseball  grounds  to 
overflowing.  It  seemed  that  all  of  Washington's 
colored  population  was  out,  when  there  were  really 
only  about  one-tenth  of  them  there.  It  was  an  enthu- 
siastic, banner-waving,  shouting,  hallooing  crowd.  Its 
component  parts  were  strictly  and  frankly  partisan, 
and  so  separated  themselves  into  sections  differentiated 
by  the  colors  of  the  flags  they  carried  and  the  ribbons 
they  wore.  Side  yelled  defiance  at  side,  and  party 
bantered  party.  Here  the  blue  and  white  of  company 
"A"  flaunted  audaciously  on  the  breeze  beside  the  very 
seats  over  which  the  crimson  and  gray  of  "B"  were 
flying  and  they  in  their  turn  nodded  defiance  over  the 
imaginary  barrier  between  themselves  and  "C's"  black 
and  yellow. 

The  band  was  thundering  out  Sousa's  "High  School 
Cadet's  March,"  the  school  officials,  the  judges,  and 
reporters,  and  some  with  less  purpose  were  bustling 
about  discussing  and  conferring.  Altogether  doing 
nothing  much  with  beautiful  unanimity.  All  was 
noise,  hurry,  gaiety,  and  turbulence. 


4  The  Upward  Path 

In  the  midst  of  it  all,  with  blue  and  white  rosettes 
pinned  on  their  breasts,  sat  two  spectators,  tense  and 
silent,  while  the  breakers  of  movement  and  sound 
struck  and  broke  around  them.  It  seemed  too  much 
to  Hannah  and  ''little  sister"  for  them  to  laugh  and 
shout.  Bud  was  with  company  ''A,"  and  so  the  whole 
program  was  more  like  a  religious  ceremonial  to  them. 
The  blare  of  the  brass  to  them  might  have  been  the 
trumpet  call  to  battle  in  old  Judea,  and  the  far-thrown 
tones  of  the  megaphone  the  voice  of  a  prophet  pro- 
claiming from  the  hill-top. 

Hannah^s  face  glowed  with  expectation,  and  "little 
sister"  sat  very  still  and  held  her  mother's  hand  save 
when  amid  a  burst  of  cheers  company  "A"  swept  into 
the  parade  ground  at  a  quick  step,  then  she  sprang  up, 
crying  shrilly,  "There's  Bud!  there's  Bud!  I  see  him!" 
and  then  settled  back  into  her  seat  overcome  with  em- 
barrassment. The  mother's  eyes  danced  as  soon  as  the 
sister's  had  singled  out  their  dear  one  from  the  midst 
of  the  blue-coated  boys,  and  it  was  an  effort  for  her 
to  keep  from  following  her  little  daughter's  example 
even  to  echoing  her  words. 

Company  "A"  came  swinging  down  the  field  toward 
the  judges  in  a  manner  that  called  for  more  enthusias- 
tic huzzas  that  carried  even  the  Freshmen  of  other 
commands  "off  their  feet."  They  were,  indeed,  a  set 
of  fine-looking  young  fellows,  brisk,  straight,  and  sol- 
dierly in  bearing.    Their  captain  was  proud  of  them, 


The  Boy  and  the  Bayonet  5 

and  his  very  step  showed  it.  He  was  like  a  skilled 
operator  pressing  the  key  of  some  great  mechanism, 
and  at  his  command  they  moved  like  clockwork. 
Seen  from  the  side  it  was  as  if  they  were  all  bound 
together  by  inflexible  iron  bars,  and  as  the  end  man 
moved  all  must  move  with  him. 

The  crowd  was  full  of  exclamations  of  praise  and  ad- 
miration, but  a  tense  quiet  enveloped  them  as  com- 
pany "A"  came  from  columns  of  four  into  line  for 
volley  firing.  This  was  a  real  test;  it  meant  not  only 
grace  and  precision  of  movement,  singleness  of  atten- 
tion and  steadiness,  but  quickness  tempered  by  self- 
control.  At  the  command  the  volley  rang  forth  like  a 
single  shot.  This  was  again  the  signal  for  wild  cheer- 
ing and  the  blue  and  white  streamers  kissed  the  sun- 
light with  swift  impulsive  kisses.  Hannah  and  "little 
sister'^  drew  closer  together  and  pressed  hands. 

The  "A''  adherents,  however,  were  considerably 
cooled  when  the  next  volley  came  out,  badly  scattering, 
with  one  shot  entirely  apart  and  before  the  rest.  Bud's 
mother  did  not  entirely  understand  the  sudden  quiet- 
ing of  the  adherents ;  they  felt  vaguely  that  all  was  not 
as  it  should  be,  and  the  chill  of  fear  laid  hold  upon 
their  hearts.  What  if  Bud's  company  (it  was  always 
Bud's  company  to  them),  what  if  his  company  should 
lose.  But,  of  course,  that  couldn't  be.  Bud  himself 
had  said  that  they  would  win.  Suppose,  though,  they 
didn't;  and  with  these  thoughts  they  were  miserable 


6  The  Upward  Path 

until  the  cheering  again  told  them  that  the  company 
had  redeemed  itself. 

Someone  behind  Hannah  said,  ^They  are  doing 
splendidly,  they'll  win,  they'll  win  yet  in  spite  of  the 
second  volley." 

Company  ^^A,"  in  columns  of  four,  had  executed  the 
right  oblique  in  double  time,  and  halted  amid  cheers; 
then  formed  left  front  into  line  without  halting.  The 
next  movement  was  one  looked  forward  to  with  much 
anxiety  on  account  of  its  difficulty.  The  order  was 
marching  by  fours  to  fix  or  unfix  bayonets.  They  were 
going  at  a  quick  step,  but  the  boys'  hands  were  steady 
—  hope  was  bright  in  their  hearts.  They  were  doing 
it  rapidly  and  freely,  when  suddenly  from  the  ranks 
there  was  the  bright  gleam  of  steel  lower  down  than 
it  should  have  been.  A  gasp  broke  from  the  breasts 
of  company  "A's'^  friends.  The  blue  and  white 
dropped  disconsolately,  while  a  few  heartless  ones  who 
wore  other  colors  attempted  to  hiss.  Someone  had 
dropped  his  bayonet.  But  with  muscles  unquivering, 
without  a  turned  head,  the  company  moved  on  as  if 
nothing  had  happened,  while  one  of  the  judges,  an 
army  officer,  stepped  into  the  wake  of  the  boys  and 
picked  up  the  fallen  steel. 

No  two  eyes  had  seen  half  so  quickly  as  Hannah  and 
"little  sister's"  who  the  blunderer  was.  In  the  whole 
drill  there  had  been  but  one  figure  for  them,  and  that 
was  Bud, — Bud,  and  it  was  he  who  had  dropped  his 


The  Boy  and  the  Bayonet  7 

bayonet.  Anxious,  nervous  with  the  desire  to  please 
them,  perhaps  with  a  shade  too  much  of  thought  of 
them  looking  on  with  their  hearts  in  their  eyes,  he 
had  fumbled,  and  lost  all  he  was  striving  for.  His 
head  went  round  and  round  and  all  seemed  black 
before  him. 

He  executed  the  movements  in  a  dazed  way.  The 
applause,  generous  and  sympathetic,  as  his  company 
left  the  parade  ground,  came  to  him  from  afar  ofP,  and 
like  a  wounded  animal  he  crept  away  from  his  com- 
rades, not  because  their  reproaches  stung  him,  for  he 
did  not  hear  them,  but  because  he  wanted  to  think 
what  his  mother  and  'little  sister"  would  say,  but  his 
misery  was  as  nothing  to  that  of  the  two  who  sat  up 
there  amid  the  ranks  of  the  blue  and  white,  holding 
each  other's  hands  with  a  despairing  grip.  To  Bud 
all  of  the  rest  of  the  contest  was  a  horrid  nightmare; 
he  hardly  knew  when  the  three  companies  were 
marched  back  to  receive  the  judges'  decision.  The 
applause  that  greeted  company  ''B"  when  the  blue 
ribbons  were  pinned  on  the  members'  coats  meant 
nothing  to  his  ears.  He  had  disgraced  himself  and 
his  company.  What  would  his  mother  and  his  "little 
sister"  say? 

To  Hannah  and  "little  sister,"  as  to  Bud,  all  of  the 
remainder  of  the  drill  was  a  misery.  The  one  interest 
they  had  had  in  it  failed,  and  not  even  the  dropping  of 
his  gun  by  one  of  company  "E"  when  on  the  march, 


8  The  Upward  Path 

halting  in  line,  could  raise  their  spirits.  The  little  girl 
tried  to  be  brave,  but  when  it  was  all  over  she  was  glad 
to  hurry  out  before  the  crowd  got  started  and  to  hasten 
away  home.  Once  there  and  her  tears  flowed  freely; 
she  hid  her  face  in  her  mother's  dress,  and  sobbed  as 
if  her  heart  would  break. 

"Don't  cry,  Baby!  don't  cry,  Lammie,  dis  ain't  da 
las'  time  da  wah  goin'  to  be  a  drill.  Bud'U  have  a 
chance  anotha  time  and  den  he'll  show  'em  somethin' ; 
bless  you,  I  spec'  he'll  be  a  captain."  But  this  con- 
solation of  philosophy  was  nothing  to  "little  sister." 
It  was  so  terrible  to  her,  this  failure  of  Bud's.  She 
couldn't  blame  him,  she  couldn't  blame  anyone  else, 
and  she  had  not  yet  learned  to  lay  all  such  unfathomed 
catastrophes  at  the  door  of  fate.  What  to  her  was 
the  thought  of  another  day ;  what  did  it  matter  to  her 
whether  he  was  a  captain  or  a  private?  She  didn't 
even  know  the  meaning  of  the  words,  but  "little  sister," 
from  the  time  she  knew  Bud  was  a  private,  thought 
that  was  much  better  than  being  a  captain  or  any  other 
of  those  things  with  a  long  name,  so  that  settled  it. 

Her  mother  finally  set  about  getting  the  supper, 
while  "little  sister"  drooped  disconsolately  in  her  own 
little  splint-bottomed  chair.  She  sat  there  weeping 
silently  until  she  heard  the  sound  of  Bud's  step,  then 
sprang  up  and  ran  away  to  hide.  She  didn't  dare  to 
face  him  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  Bud  came  in  without 
a  word  and  sat  down  in  the  dark  front  room. 


The  Boy  and  the  Bayonet  9 

"Dat  you,  Bud?''  asked  his  mother. 

"Yassum." 

''Bettah  come  now,  supper's  puty  'nigh  ready." 

"I  don't  want  no  supper." 

"You  bettah  come  on.  Bud,  I  reckon  you's  mighty 
tired." 

He  did  not  reply,  but  just  then  a  pair  of  thin  arms 
were  put  around  his  neck  and  a  soft  cheek  was  placed 
close  to  his  own. 

"Come  on,  Buddie,"  whispered  "little  sister," 
"Mammy  an'  me  know  you  didn't  mean  to  do  it,  an*  we 
don't  keer." 

Bud  threw  his  arms  around  his  little  sister  and  held 
her  tightly. 

"It's  only  you  an'  ma  I  care  about,"  he  said,  "though 
I  am  sorry  I  spoiled  the  company's  drill ;  they  say  "B" 
would  have  won  anyway  on  account  of  our  bad  firing, 
but  I  did  want  you  and  ma  to  be  proud." 

"We  is  proud,"  she  whispered,  "we's  mos'  prouder 
dan  if  you'd  won,"  and  pretty  soon  she  led  him  by 
the  hand  to  supper. 

Hannah  did  all  she  could  to  cheer  the  boy  and  to  en- 
courage him  to  hope  for  next  year,  but  he  had  little 
to  say  in  reply,  and  went  to  bed  early. 

In  the  morning,  though  it  neared  school  time,  Bud 
lingered  around  and  seemed  in  no  disposition  to  get 
ready  to  go. 

"Bettah  git  ready  fer  school,"  said  Hannah  cheerily. 


10  •  The  Upward  Path 

"I  don't  believe  I  want  to  go  any  more,"  Bud  re- 
plied. 

''Not  go  any  more?  Why,  ain't  you  'shamed  to  talk 
that  way!    O'  cose  you  goin'  to  school." 

''I'm  ashamed  to  show  my  face  to  the  boys." 

"What  you  say  about  de  boys?  De  boys  ain't  a-goin' 
to  give  you  an  edgication  when  you  need  it." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  go,  ma;  you  don't  know  how  I 
feel." 

"I'm  kinder  sorry  I  let  you  go  into  dat  company," 
said  Hannah  musingly,  "  'cause  it  was  de  teachin'  I 
wanted  you  to  git,  not  the  prancin'  and  steppin';  but 
I  did  t'ink  it  would  make  mo'  of  a  man  of  you,  an'  it 
ain't.  Yo'  pappy  was  a  po'  man,  ha'd  wo'kin',  an'  he 
wasn't  high-toned  neither,  but  from  the  time  I  first 
see  him  to  the  day  of  his  death,  I  nevah  seen  him  back 
down  because  he  was  afeared  of  anything,"  and  Han- 
nah turned  to  her  work. 

"Little  sister"  went  up  and  slipped  her  hand  in  his. 
"You  ain't  a-goin  to  back  down,  is  you,  Buddie?"  she 
said. 

"No,"  said  Bud  stoutly,  as  he  braced  his  shoulders, 
"I'm  a-goin'." 

But  no  persuasion  could  make  him  wear  his  uniform. 

The  boys  were  a  little  cold  to  him,  and  some  were 
brutal.  But  most  of  them  recognized  the  fact  that 
what  had  happened  to  Tom  Harris  might  have  hap- 
pened to  any  one  of  them.  Besides,  since  the  percentage 


The  Boy  and  the  Bayonet  11 

had  been  shown,  it  was  found  that  "B^^  had  outpointed 
them  in  many  ways,  and  so  their  loss  was  not  due  to 
the  one  grave  error. 

Bud's  heart  sank  when  he  dropped  into  his  seat  in 
the  Assembly  Hall  to  find  seated  on  the  platform  one 
of  the  blue-coated  officers  who  had  acted  as  judge  the 
day  before.  After  the  opening  exercises  were  over 
he  was  called  upon  to  address  the  school.  He  spoke 
readily  and  pleasantly,  laying  especial  stress  upon  the 
value  of  discipline;  toward  the  end  of  his  address  he 
said  "I  suppose  company  'A'  is  heaping  accusations 
upon  the  head  of  the  young  man  who  dropped  his  bay- 
onet yesterday."  Tom  could  have  died.  "It  was  most 
regrettable,'^  the  officer  continued,  "but  to  me  the  most 
significant  thing  at  the  drill  was  the  conduct  of  that 
cadet  afterward.  I  saw  the  whole  proceeding;  I  saw 
that  he  did  not  pause  for  an  instant,  that  he  did  not 
even  turn  his  head,  and  it  appeared  to  me  as  one  of  the 
finest  bits  of  self-control  I  had  ever  seen  in  any  youth ; 
had  he  forgotten  himself  for  a  moment  and  stopped, 
however  quickly,  to  secure  the  weapon,  the  next  line 
would  have  been  interfered  with  and  your  whole  move- 
ment thrown  into  confusion."  There  were  a  half  hun- 
dred eyes  glancing  furtively  at  Bud,  and  the  light  be- 
gan to  dawn  in  his  face.  "This  boy  has  shown  what 
discipline  means,  and  I  for  one  want  to  shake  hands 
with  him,  if  he  is  here." 

When  he  had  concluded  the  Principal  called  Bud 


12  The  Upward  Path 

forward,  and  the  boys,  even  his  detractors,  cheered  as 
the  ofl&cer  took  his  hand. 

"Why  are  you  not  in  uniform,  sir?'*  he  asked. 

"I  was  ashamed  to  wear  it  after  yesterday,"  was  the 
reply. 

"Don't  be  ashamed  to  wear  your  uniform,"  the  offi- 
cer said  to  him,  and  Bud  could  have  fallen  on  his  knees 
and  thanked  him. 

There  were  no  more  jeers  from  his  comrades,  and 
when  he  related  it  all  at  home  that  evening  there  were 
two  more  happy  hearts  in  that  South  Washington 
cottage. 

"I  told  you  we  was  more  prouder  dan  if  you'd  won," 
said  "little  sister." 

"An'  what  did  I  tell  you  'bout  backin'  out?"  asked 
his  mother. 

Bud  was  too  happy  and  too  busy  to  answer ;  he  was 
brushing  his  uniform. 


Beginnings  of  a  Mississippi  School         13 


THE   BEGINNINGS   OF   A 
MISSISSIPPI   SCHOOL 

WILLIAM    H.    HOLTZCLAW 

I  had  been  unable  to  get  permission  to  teach  in  the 
little  church,  so  I  started  my  school  in  the  open  air. 
We  were  out  under  the  big  trees  amidst  the  shrubbery. 
This  would  have  made  a  very  good  schoolhouse  but  for 
its  size.  In  such  a  schoolhouse  one  could  get  along 
very  well,  if  he  could  keep  his  pupils  close  enough  to 
him,  but  the  chances  are,  as  I  have  found,  that  they  will 
put  bugs  down  one  another's  collars,  and  while  you  are 
hearing  one  class  the  other  children  will  chase  one 
another  about.  Their  buoyant  spirits  will  not  permit 
them  to  keep  quiet  while  they  are  in  the  open.  It  is 
pretty  hard  to  hear  a  class  reciting  and  at  the  same 
time  to  witness  a  boxing-match,  but  those  who  teach 
in  the  open  air  must  be  prepared  for  such  performances. 
These  annoyances  were  accentuated  by  the  fact  that 
some  of  my  pupils  were  forty  years  old  while  others 
were  six. 

After  a  while  we  moved  into  an  abandoned  house, 
which  we  used  for  a  schoolhouse,  but  it  was  little  better 
than  teaching  out  of  doors.  When  it  rained  the  water 
not  only  came  through  the  roof,  but  through  the  sides 
as  well.    During  cold  winter  rains  I  had  to  teach  while 


14  The  Upward  Path 

standing  with  my  overcoat  on  and  with  arctic  rubbers 
to  protect  myself  against  pneumonia.  During  those 
rainy  days  Miss  Lee,  my  assistant,  would  get  up  on 
a  bench  and  stand  there  all  day  to  keep  her  feet  out  of 
the  water  and  would  have  an  umbrella  stretched  over 
her  to  keep  from  getting  wet  from  above.  The  little 
fellows  would  be  standing  in  the  water  below  like  little 
ducks.  They  stood  these  conditions  exceedingly  well. 
Many  of  them  were  not  protected  with  overshoes  or 
any  shoes,  but  they  came  to  school  each  day  just  as  if 
they  had  been  properly  clad. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  hardships  that  we 
suffered  during  that  winter,  which  was  severe  for  the 
South.  As  the  winter  came  on  and  grew  more  and  more 
severe  a  great  many  of  the  children  were  taken  with 
pneumonia,  la  grippe,  and  similar  ailments.  I  wished, 
in  the  interest  of  health,  to  abandon  the  school  for  a 
few  weeks  until  better  weather ;  but  neither  pupils,  nor 
teachers,  nor  parents  would  listen  to  this,  and  so  the 
school  continued  under  these  circumstances  until  the 
new  schoolhouse  was  ready  for  use.  It  is  needless  to 
say  that  some  of  the  pupils  never  survived  those  condi- 
tions; in  fact,  the  strange  thing  is  that  any  of  us  did. 


Up  from  Slavery  15 

UP   FROM   SLAVERY 

The  Struggle  for  an  Education 
booker  t.  washington 

One  day,  while  at  work  in  the  coal-mine,  I  happened 
to  overhear  two  miners  talking  about  a  great  school 
for  colored  people  somewhere  in  Virginia.  This  was 
the  first  time  that  I  had  ever  heard  anything  about  any 
kind  of  school  or  college  that  was  more  pretentious 
than  the  little  colored  school  in  our  town. 

In  the  darkness  of  the  mine  I  noiselessly  crept  as 
close  as  I  could  to  the  two  men  who  were  talking.  I 
heard  one  tell  the  other  that  not  only  was  the  school 
established  for  the  members  of  my  race,  but  that  op- 
portunities were  provided  by  which  poor  but  worthy 
students  could  work  out  all  or  a  part  of  the  cost  of 
board,  and  at  the  same  time  be  taught  some  trade  or 
industry. 

As  they  went  on  describing  the  school,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  it  must  be  the  greatest  place  on  earth,  and 
not  even  Heaven  presented  more  attractions  for  me  at 
that  time  than  did  the  Hampton  Normal  and  Agricul- 
tural Institute  in  Virginia,  about  which  these  men 
were  talking.  I  resolved  at  once  to  go  to  that  school, 
although  I  had  no  idea  where  it  was,  or  how  many  miles 
away,  or  how  I  was  going  to  reach  it;  I  remembered 
only  that  I  was  on  fire  constantly  with  one  ambition, 


16  The  Upward  Path 

and  that  was  to  go  to  Hampton.    This  thought  was 
with  me  day  and  night. 

After  hearing  of  the  Hampton  Institute,  I  continued 
to  work  for  a  few  months  longer  in  the  coal-mine. 
While  at  work  there,  I  heard  of  a  vacant  position  in 
the  household  of  General  Lewis  Ruffner,  the  owner  of 
the  salt-furnace  and  coal-mine.  Mrs.  Viola  Ruffner, 
the  wife  of  General  Ruffner,  was  a  "Yankee'^  woman 
from  Vermont.  Mrs.  Ruffner  had  a  reputation  all 
through  the  vicinity  for  being  very  strict  with  her 
servants,  and  especially  with  the  boys  who  tried  to 
serve  her.  Few  of  them  had  remained  with  her  more 
than  two  or  three  weeks.  They  all  left  with  the  same 
excuse :  she  was  too  strict.  I  decided,  however,  that  I 
would  rather  try  Mrs.  Ruffner's  house  than  remain 
in  the  coal-mine,  and  so  my  mother  applied  to  her  for 
the  vacant  position.  I  was  hired  at  a  salary  of  $5  per 
month. 

I  had  heard  so  much  about  Mrs.  Ruffner's  severity 
that  I  was  almost  afraid  to  see  her,  and  trembled  when 
I  went  into  her  presence.  I  had  not  lived  with  her 
many  weeks,  however,  before  I  began  to  understand 
her.  I  soon  began  to  learn  that,  first  of  all,  she  wanted 
everything  kept  clean  about  her,  that  she  wanted 
things  done  promptly  and  systematically,  and  that  at 
•the  bottom  of  everything  she  wanted  absolute  honesty 
and  frankness.  Nothing  must  be  sloven  or  slipshod; 
every  door,  every  fence,  must  be  kept  in  repair. 


Up  from  Slavery  17 

I  cannot  now  recall  how  long  I  lived  with  Mrs.  Ruff- 
ner  before  going  to  Hampton,  but  I  think  it  must  have 
been  a  year  and  a  half.  At  any  rate,  I  here  repeat 
what  I  have  said  more  than  once  before,  that  the  les- 
sons that  I  learned  in  the  home  of  Mrs.  Ruffner  were 
as  valuable  to  me  as  any  education  I  have  ever  gotten 
anywhere  since.  Even  to  this  day  I  never  see  bits  of 
paper  scattered  around  a  house  or  in  the  street  that  I 
do  not  want  to  pick  them  up  at  once.  I  never  see  a 
filthy  yard  that  I  do  not  want  to  clean  it,  a  paling  off  of 
a  fence  that  I  do  not  want  to  put  it  on,  an  unpainted 
or  unwhitewashed  house  that  I  do  not  want  to  paint 
or  whitewash  it,  or  a  button  off  one's  clothes,  or  a 
grease-spot  on  them  or  on  a  floor,  that  I  do  not  want  to 
call  attention  to  it. 

From  fearing  Mrs.  Ruffner  I  soon  learned  to  look 
upon  her  as  one  of  my  best  friends.  When  she  found 
that  she  could  trust  me  she  did  so  implicitly.  During 
the  one  or  two  winters  that  I  was  with  her  she  gave  me 
an  opportunity  to  go  to  school  for  an  hour  in  the  day 
during  a  portion  of  the  winter  months,  but  most  of 
my  studying  was  done  at  night,  sometimes  alone, 
sometimes  under  some  one  whom  I  could  hire  to  teach 
me.  Mrs.  Ruffner  always  encouraged  and  sympathized 
with  me  in  all  my  efforts  to  get  an  education.  It 
was  while  living  with  her  that  I  began  to  get  together 
my  first  library.  I  secured  a  dry-goods  box,  knocked 
out  one  side  of  it,  put  some  shelves  in  it,  and  began 


18  The  Upward  Path 

putting  into  it  every  kind  of  book  that  I  could  get  my 
hands  upon,  and  called  it  ^'my  library." 

Without  any  unusual  occurrence  I  reached  Hamp- 
ton, with  a  surplus  of  exactly  fifty  cents  with  which  to 
begin  my  education.  To  me  it  had  been  a  long,  event- 
ful journey;  but  the  first  sight  of  the  large,  three- 
story,  brick  school  building  seemed  to  have  rewarded 
me  for  all  that  I  had  undergone  in  order  to  reach  the 
place.  If  the  people  who  gave  the  money  to  provide 
that  building  could  appreciate  the  influence  the  sight 
of  it  had  upon  me,  as  well  as  upon  thousands  of  other 
youths,  they  would  feel  all  the  more  encouraged  to 
make  such  gifts.  It  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  largest 
and  most  beautiful  building  I  had  ever  seen.  The 
sight  of  it  seemed  to  give  me  new  life.  I  felt  that  a 
new  kind  of  existence  had  now  begun  —  that  life  would 
now  have  a  new  meaning.  I  felt  that  I  had  reached 
the  promised  land,  and  I  resolved  to  let  no  obstacle 
prevent  me  from  putting  forth  the  highest  effort  to 
fit  myself  to  accomplish  the  most  good  in  the  world. 

As  soon  as  possible  after  reaching  the  grounds  of 
the  Hampton  Institute,  I  presented  myself  before  the 
head  teacher  for  assignment  to  a  class.  Having  been 
so  long  without  proper  food,  a  bath,  and  change  of 
clothing,  I  did  not,  of  course,  make  a  very  favorable 
impression  upon  her,  and  I  could  see  at  once  that  there 
were  doubts  in  her  mind  about  the  wisdom  of  admitting 
me  as  a  student.    I  felt  that  I  could  hardly  blame  her 


Up  from  Slavery  19 

if  she  got  the  idea  that  I  was  a  worthless  loafer  or 
tramp.  For  some  time  she  did  not  refuse  to  admit  me, 
neither  did  she  decide  in  my  favor,  and  I  continued  to 
linger  about  her,  and  to  impress  her  in  all  the  ways 
I  could  with  my  worthiness.  In  the  meantime  I  saw 
her  admitting  other  students,  and  that  added  greatly 
to  my  discomfort,  for  I  felt,  deep  down  in  my  heart, 
that  I  could  do  as  well  as  they,  if  I  could  only  get  a 
chance  to  show  what  was  in  me. 

After  some  hours  had  passed,  the  head  teacher  said 
to  me,  "The  adjoining  recitation  room  needs  sweeping. 
Take  the  broom  and  sweep  it.'' 

It  occurred  to  me  at  once  that  here  was  my  chance. 
Never  did  I  receive  an  order  with  more  delight.  I 
knew  that  I  could  sweep,  for  Mrs.  Ruffner  had 
thoroughly  taught  me  how  to  do  that  when  I  lived 
with  her. 

I  swept  the  recitation-room  three  times.  Then  I  got 
a  dusting-cloth  and  I  dusted  it  four  times.  All  the 
woodwork  around  the  walls,  every  bench,  table,  and 
desk,  I  went  over  four  times  with  my  dusting-cloth. 
Besides,  every  piece  of  furniture  had  been  moved  and 
every  closet  and  corner  in  the  room  had  been 
thoroughly  cleaned.  I  had  the  feeling  that  in  a  large 
measure  my  future  depended  upon  the  impression  I 
made  upon  the  teacher  in  the  cleaning  of  that  room. 
When  I  was  through,  I  reported  to  the  head  teacher. 
She  was  a  "Yankee"  woman  who  knew  just  where  to 


20  The  Upward  Path 

look  for  dirt.  She  went  into  the  room  and  inspected  the 
floor  and  closets;  then  she  took  her  handkerchief  and 
rubbed  it  on  the  wood-work  about  the  walls,  and  over 
the  table  and  benches.  When  she  was  unable  to  find 
one  bit  of  dirt  on  the  floor,  or  a  particle  of  dust  on  any 
of  the  furniture,  she  remarked  quietly,  '^I  guess  you  will 
do  to  enter  this  institution." 


BOOKER  T.   WASHINGTON 
A  Student's  Memory  of  Him 

WILLIAM    H.    HOLTZCLAW 

One  thing  about  Mr.  Washington  that  impressed  me 
was  his  regularity.  He  was  as  regular  as  the  clock. 
He  appeared  at  his  office  in  the  morning  exactly  at 
eight  o^clock,  remained  until  twelve,  very  often  took 
part  in  an  Executive  Council  meeting  until  one,  and 
then  went  to  lunch.  At  two  o'clock  he  would  again  be 
in  his  office  and  would  invariably  remain  there  until 
half-past  four,  when  he  would  leave  and  tramp  across 
the  plantation ;  sometimes  he  would  run  for  a  mile  or 
two,  as  fast  as  he  could  go,  for  exercise.  When  he  re- 
turned he  would  go  to  his  library  and  there  would  pass 
the  time  until  six,  when  he  would  go  to  dinner.  After 
dinner  he  played  with  the  children  for  a  while  and  then 
returned  to  his  library  until  8.40.    He  would  then  go 


Booker  T,  Washington  21 

to  Chapel  for  evening  prayers  with  the  whole  student 
body.  This  prayer  service  was  one  that  Mr.  Washing- 
ton seldom  ever  missed  and  he  always  appeared  on 
the  rostrum  exactly  on  the  minute. 

Mr.  Washington  had  a  grasp  of  the  details  of  the 
work  of  Tuskegee  that  seemed  almost  incredible.  I 
remember  one  evening  that  I  was  startled  to  hear  my 
name,  together  with  that  of  one  of  my  friends,  called 
out  by  Mr.  Washington  from  the  chapel  platform. 
He  simply  said,  ^'William  Holtzclaw  and  Charles  Wash- 
ington may  rise."  I  was  so  weak  in  my  knees  that  I 
could  scarcely  stand,  but  I  knew  nothing  else  to  do 
but  to  rise  at  the  command  of  that  voice.  After  we 
stood  up  and  the  whole  school  was  looking  at  us,  Mr. 
Washington  said :  "These  young  men  may  pass  out  of 
the  Chapel  and  go  and  pick  up  the  tools  they  worked 
with  to-day."  We  had  been  ditching  and  when  the 
work-bell  rang  had  left  our  tools  where  we  were  work- 
ing, when  they  should  have  been  carried  to  the  tool- 
house. 

If  the  water  main,  or  water  pipe,  had  a  defect  in  it 
so  that  it  was  leaking  anywhere  on  the  grounds,  Mr. 
Washington  was  almost  sure  to  see  that  something 
was  wrong  and  to  call  the  matter  to  the  attention  of 
the  Superintendent  of  Industries. 

If  he  came  into  the  dining-room  while  the  students 
were  eating  their  meals,  he  would  notice  such  small 
details  as  a  student's  pouring  out  more  molasses  on  his 


22  The  Upward  Path 

plate  than  he  could  eat  and  would  stop  in  the  dining- 
room,  send  for  the  matron,  have  some  bread  brought  to 
the  student,  and  wait  until  that  student  had  eaten  all 
the  molasses  he  had  poured  on  his  plate. 

If  one  walked  about  the  campus  at  night,  he  would 
be  sure  to  meet  Mr.  Washington  almost  anywhere  on 
the  grounds.  For  instance,  he  might  be  found  in  the 
kitchen  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  examining  the 
method  of  preparing  the  students'  breakfast.  He  sel- 
dom seemed  to  me  to  take  sufficient  rest  for  an  average 
man. 


ANNA-MARGARET 

AUGUSTA  BIRD 

To  Anna-Margaret's  mind,  being  the  baby  of 
the  family  was  simply  awful.  This  fact  seemed  to 
grow  with  it  each  day.  It  began  in  the  morning  when 
she  watched  her  sisters  as  they  laughed  and  rollicked 
through  their  dressing. 

"Bet  I'll  beat,  and  you  got  on  your  stockings  al- 
ready," challenged  Edith. 

"I'll  bet  you  won't,  —  bet  I'll  be  out  to  the  pump, 
my  face  washed,  and  be  at  the  breakfast  table  and 
you  won't  have  your  shoes  laced  up,"  boasted  Ruth, 
the  older  of  the  two. 


Anna-Margaret  23 

"Well  see,  we'll  see,"  giggled  Edith. 

"Oho,  I  guess  you  will.  Mother  gave  you  new  shoe 
strings,"  said  Ruth  somewhat  crestfallen. 

"I  told  you  so,  I  told  you  so,"  and  Edith  bounded  out 
of  the  door,  closely  pursued  by  Ruth  who  cried :  "You 
didn't  beat  me  but  'bout  an  inch." 

Anna-Margaret  was  left  alone  to  sit  and  think  for  all 
the  next  hour  how  perfectly  awful  it  was  to  be  the 
baby,  until  Mother  Dear  was  able  to  come  and  dress 
her. 

The  next  morning  it  was  the  same  torture  all  over 
again.  It  seemed  to  Anna-Margaret  that  people  never 
stopped  to  think  or  know  what  a  baby  was  forced  to 
go  through.  There  were  Edith  and  Ruth  racing  again. 
Anna-Margaret  spied  her  shoes  and  stockings  on  a 
chair.    Out  of  the  side  of  her  crib  she  climbed. 

"Look  at  Anna-Margaret!"  screamed  Edith. 

"You,  Anna-Margaret,  get  right  back  in  that  crib!" 
commanded  Ruth  assuming  her  mother's  tone. 

"I  won't!"  And  right  over  to  the  chair  where  her 
shoes  and  stockings  were,  walked  the  baby.  She  seated 
herself  on  the  floor  and  drew  on  her  stocking  as  if  she 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  it  on  preceding  morn- 
ings. It  was  surprising  to  Anna-Margaret,  herself,  the 
ease  with  which  it  went  on. 

"Look  at  that  child,"  gasped  Ruth. 

Edith  looked  and  said  a  little  grudgingly,  "I'll  bet 
she  can't  put  on  her  shoes  though."    Edith  remembered 


24  The  Upward  Path 

how  long  it  was  before  she  was  able  to  put  on  her  shoes, 
and  this  accomplishment,  in  her  mind,  seemed  to  give 
her  a  great  superiority  over  her  baby  sister. 

"Come  on,  Edith,"  called  Ruth,  "I'll  beat  you  down 
to  the  pump  and  111  give  you  to  the  rose  bush,  too." 

Struggling,  pulling  and  twisting  sat  Anna-Margaret 
all  alone,  but  the  shoe  would  not  go  on.  She  was  just 
about  to  give  up  in  utter  despair  and  burst  into  tears 
when  Mother  Dear  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"What  is  mother's  angel  doing?  Well,  well,  look  at 
Mother's  smart  child,  she  has  got  on  her  stocking  al- 
ready, —  here,  let  mother  help  her." 

It  was  awful  to  think  you  were  still  such  a  baby 
that  you  couldn't  do  anything  yourself,  but  it  was  very 
nice,  so  Anna-Margaret  thought,  to  have  such  an 
adorable  mother  to  come  to  your  rescue. 

"There  now,  run  out  and  tell  Ruth  to  wash  your 
face  and  then  mother  will  give  you  your  breakfast." 

"Wash  my  face,  Ruth,"  requested  Anna-Margaret  at 
the  pump. 

"Who  laced  up  your  shoes?"  asked  Edith  sus- 
piciously. 

"I  did."  Anna-Margaret  said  it  so  easily  that  it 
startled  herself. 

''1  don't  believe  it,  I  don't  believe  it.  I  am  going  to 
ask  Mother." 

"Hold  still,  will  you,  and  let  me  wash  your  face," 
commanded  Ruth. 


Anna-Margaret  25 

As  soon  as  she  was  free,  away  went  Anna-Margaret 
back  to  the  house. 

''Muvver,  Muwer/'  cried  Anna-Margaret  ahnost 
breathless  as  she  entered  the  big  kitchen,  ''tell  Edith  I 
laced  up  my  shoes,  tell  'er,  Muvver,  will  yo',  Muvver?'' 

Mother  stopped  her  work  at  the  breakfast  table. 
"Anna-Margaret,  I  could  not  do  that  because  you 
didn^t.'^ 

"But  tell  'er  I  did,  won't  you,  Muwer,"  she  pleaded. 

"Anna-Margaret,  I  can't  do  that  because  I  would  be 
telling  a  lie.  Don't  I  whip  Ruth  and  Edith  for  telling 
lies?" 

"Tell  a  lie,  Muvver,  tell  a  lie,  /  won't  whip  you.'' 

Mother  Dear  was  forced  to  smile.  "Here,  eat  your 
breakfast,  I  can't  promise  my  baby  I  will  tell  a  lie, 
even  if  she  won't  whip  me." 

Fortunately  no  one  questioned  Mother  Dear  and 
Anna-Margaret  ate  her  breakfast  in  silence.  Then  kiss- 
ing her  mother  in  a  matter  of  fact  way,  she  went  out 
to  play  with  her  sisters. 

"Ah,  here  comes  Anna-Margaret  to  knock  down  our 
things,"  moaned  Edith. 

"Let  her  come  on,"  cried  Ruth,  "and  we'll  go  down 
in  the  bottom  and  build  sand  forts ;  it  rained  yesterday 
and  the  sand  is  nice  and  damp." 

"Oh-oo,  let's,"  echoed  Edith,  and  off  they  scampered. 
Anna-Margaret  saw  them  and  started  after  them  as 
fast  as  her  little  chubby  brown  legs  could  carry  her, 


26  The  Upward  Path 

which  wasn't  very  fast.  The  other  children  were  far  in 
front  of  her.  Anna-Margaret  stopped  suddenly,  —  she 
heard  a  little  biddie  in  distress.  There  was  a  mother 
hen  darting  through  the  grass  after  a  fleeing  grass- 
hopper, and  close  behind  her  was  the  whole  flock  save 
one.  Anna-Margaret  watched  them  as  the  young 
chickens  spread  open  their  wings  and  hurried  in  pursuit 
of  their  mother.  Far  behind  one  little  black,  fuzzy  bid- 
die  struggled  and  tripped  over  the  tall  grass  stems.  The 
baby  looked  at  the  little  chick  and  then  at  the  other 
ones  and  saw  that  they  were  different.  She  didn't 
know  what  the  difference  was.  She  could  not  under- 
stand that  the  other  chickens  were  several  days  older 
and  that  this  one  had  only  been  taken  away  from  its 
own  mother  hen  that  morning  in  order  that  she  would 
remain  on  her  nest  until  all  her  chicks  were  hatched. 
All  Anna-Margaret  knew  was  that  they  were  different. 

"Poor  ril  biddie,  dey  don't  want  you  to  play  wif 
them,"  she  sympathized,  "come,  come  to  Anna-Mar^ 
garet." 

With  little  difficulty  she  captured  the  young  chick 
and  started  back  to  the  house. 

"Dat's  all  'ight,  I  know  what  I'm  gonna  do,"  she  de- 
cided, "I'm  gonna  play  Dod.  Poor  I'll  biddie,  just  wait, 
Anna-Margaret'll  fix  yo',  so  you  can  run  and  fly  and 
keep  up  with  the  biddies.  Won't  dat  be  nice,  uh?" 
And  she  put  her  curly  head  down  close  to  the  little 
chick  as  if  to  catch  its  answer. 


Anna-Margaret  27 

Anna-Margaret  went  straight  to  the  big  sewing- 
basket  and  placing  the  biddie  on  the  machine  extracted 
a  threaded  needle.  Cutting  two  small  pieces  of  black 
cloth  for  wings,  she  took  the  chick  and  seated  herself 


<^^ 


on  the  drop-step  between  the  sewing-room  and  dining- 
room.  She  then  attempted  to  sew  one  of  the  little 
black  pieces  of  cloth  to  one  of  the  tiny  wings  of  the 
young  chick. 

"There,  there,  yo'U  be  all  'ight  in  dest  a  minute," 
she  said  amid  the  distressful  chirping  of  the  chick. 
The  biddie^s  cries  brought  Mother  Dear  to  the  scene. 

"Anna-Margaret,  what  on  earth  are  you  doing  to 
the  little  chicken?" 

Anna-Margaret,  turned  her  big  brown  eyes  upon  her 
mother.    "I'm  playin'  Dod  and  Fm  puttin'  some  wings 


28  The  Upward  Path 

on  des  Til  biddie  so  it  can  run  and  fly  like  the  oo-ver 
ones,  and  so  they  won't  run  off  all  the  time  and  leave 

"But  Anna-Margaret,  don't  you  know  you  are  hurt- 
ing the  little  biddie?" 

''No-o,  Muvver,"  she  said  slowly,  "but  I  know  what 
it  is  to  be  always  runned  off  and  lef." 

Mother  Dear  understood  what  was  in  her  baby's 
mind  as  she  gathered  her  up  in  her  arms.  Anna- 
Margaret  dropped  the  sewing,  cuddled  the  little  biddie 
close  in  one  arm  and  clasped  her  mother's  neck  with 
the  other.    Mother  Dear  held  her  closely. 

"I  love  yo',  Muvver  Dear,"  whispered  Anna-Mar- 
garet. 

"I  love  you,  baby  dear,"  was  the  whispered  answer. 

Being  the  baby  of  the  family  to  Anna-Margaret's 
mind,  just  now,  was  awfully  nice. 


CHARITY 

H.  CORDELIA  RAY 

I  saw  a  maiden,  fairest  of  the  fair, 
With  every  grace  bedight  beyond  compare. 
Said  I,  "What  doest  thou,  pray,  tell  to  me!" 
"I  see  the  good  in  others,"  answered  she. 


My  First  School  29 


MY  FIRST   SCHOOL 

W.  E.  B.  DUBOIS 

Once  upon  a  time  I  taught  school  in  the  hills  of  Ten- 
nessee, where  the  broad  dark  vale  of  the  Mississippi 
begins  to  roll  and  crumple  to  greet  the  AUeghanies.  I 
was  a  Fisk  student  then,  and  all  Fisk  men  thought 
that  Tennessee  —  beyond  the  Veil  —  was  theirs  alone, 
and  in  vacation  time  they  sallied  forth  in  lusty  bands 
to  meet  the  county  school-commissioners.  Young  and 
happy,  I  too  went,  and  I  shall  not  soon  forget  that 
summer. 

First,  there  was  a  Teachers'  Institute  at  the  county- 
seat;  and  there  distinguished  guests  of  the  superin- 
tendent taught  the  teachers  fractions  and  spelling  and 
other  mysteries,  —  white  teachers  in  the  morning,  Ne- 
groes at  night.  A  picnic  now  and  then,  and  a  supper, 
and  the  rough  world  was  softened  by  laughter  and 
song.    I  remember  how  —  but  I  wander. 

There  came  a  day  when  all  the  teachers  left  the  In- 
stitute and  began  the  hunt  for  schools.  I  learn  from 
hearsay  (for  my  mother  was  mortally  afraid  of  fire- 
arms) that  the  hunting  of  ducks  and  bears  and  men  is 
wonderfully  interesting,  but  I  am  sure  that  the  man 
who  has  never  hunted  a  country  school  has  something 
to  learn  of  the  pleasures  of  the  chase.    I  see  now  the 


30  The  Upward  Path 

white,  hot  roads  lazily  rise  and  fall  and  wind  before  me 
under  the  burning  July  sun ;  I  feel  the  deep  weariness 
of  heart  and  limb  as  ten,  eight,  six  miles  stretch  re- 
lentlessly ahead ;  I  feel  my  heart  sink  heavily  as  I  hear 
again  and  again,  "Got  a  teacher?  Yes."  So  I  walked 
on  —  horses  were  too  expensive  —  until  I  wandered 
beyond  railways,  beyond  stage  lines,  to  a  land  of  "var- 
mints" and  rattlesnakes,  where  the  coming  of  a 
stranger  was  an  event,  and  men  lived  and  died  in  the 
shadow  of  one  blue  hill. 

Sprinkled  over  hill  and  dale  lay  cabins  and  farm- 
houses, shut  out  from  the  world  by  the  forests  and 
the  rolling  hills  toward  the  east.  There  I  found  at 
last  a  little  school.  Josie  told  me  of  it;  she  was  a 
thin,  homely  girl  of  twenty,  with  a  dark-brown  face 
and  thick,  hard  hair.  I  had  crossed  the  stream  at 
Watertown,  and  rested  under  the  great  willows;  then 
I  had  gone  to  the  little  cabin  in  the  lot  where  Josie 
was  resting  on  her  way  to  town.  The  gaunt  farmer 
made  me  welcome,  and  Josie,  hearing  my  errand,  told 
me  anxiously  that  they  wanted  a  school  over  the  hill; 
that  but  once  since  the  war  had  a  teacher  been  there ; 
that  she  herself  longed  to  learn,  —  and  thus  she  ran 
on,  talking  fast  and  loud,  with  much  earnestness  and 
energy. 

Next  morning  I  crossed  the  tall  round  hill,  lingered 
to  look  at  the  blue  and  yellow  mountains  stretching 
toward  the  Carolinas,  then  plunged  into  the  wood,  and 


My  First  School  31 

came  out  at  Josie's  home.  It  was  a  dull  frame  cot- 
tage with  four  rooms,  perched  just  below  the  brow  of 
the  hill,  amid  peach  trees.  The  father  was  a  quiet, 
simple  soul,  calmly  ignorant,  with  no  touch  of  vul- 
garity. The  mother  was  different,  —  strong,  bustling, 
and  energetic,  with  a  quick,  restless  tongue,  and  an  am- 
bition to  live  ^'like  folks." 

There  was  a  crowd  of  children.  Two  boys  had  gone 
away.  There  remained  two  growing  girls ;  a  shy  midget 
of  eight;  John,  tall,  awkward,  and  eighteen;  Jim, 
younger,  quicker,  and  better  looking;  and  two  babies 
of  indefinite  age.  Then  there  was  Josie  herself.  She 
seemed  to  be  the  center  of  the  family :  always  busy  at 
service,  or  at  home,  or  berry-picking;  a  little  nervous 
and  inclined  to  scold,  like  her  mother,  yet  faithful,  too, 
like  her  father.  She  had  about  her  a  certain  fineness, 
the  shadow  of  an  unconscious  moral  heroism  that 
would  willingly  give  all  of  life  to  make  life  broader, 
deeper,  and  fuller  for  her  and  hers. 

I  saw  much  of  this  family  afterwards,  and  grew  to 
love  them  for  their  honest  efforts  to  be  decent  and  com- 
fortable, and  for  their  knowledge  of  their  own  igno- 
rance. There  was  with  them  no  affectation.  The 
mother  would  scold  the  father  for  being  so  "easy"; 
Josie  would  roundly  berate  the  boys  for  carelessness; 
and  all  know  that  it  was  a  hard  thing  to  dig  a  living 
out  of  a  rocky  side-hill. 

I  secured  the  school.    I  remember  the  day  I  rode 


32  The  Upward  Path 

horseback  out  to  the  commissioner's  house  with  a  pleas- 
ant young  white  fellow  who  wanted  the  white  school. 
The  road  ran  down  the  bed  of  a  stream;  the  sun 
laughed  and  the  water  jingled,  and  we  rode  on.  "Come 
in/'  said  the  commissioner,  - —  ''come  in.  Have  a  seat. 
Yes,  that  certificate  will  do.  Stay  to  dinner.  What  do 
you  want  a  month?''  "Oh,"  thought  I,  "this  is  lucky" ; 
but  even  then  fell  the  first  awful  shadow  of  the  Veil,  for 
they  ate  first,  then  I  —  alone. 

The  schoolhouse  was  a  log  hut,  where  Colonel 
Wheeler  used  to  shelter  his  corn.  It  sat  in  a  lot  be- 
hind a  rail  fence  and  thorn  bushes,  near  the  sweetest 
of  springs.  There  was  an  entrance  where  a  door  once 
was,  and  within,  a  massive  rickety  fireplace;  great 
chinks  between  the  logs  served  as  windows.  Furniture 
was  scarce.  A  pale  blackboard  crouched  in  the  corner. 
My  desk  was  made  of  three  boards,  reinforced  at  criti- 
cal points,  and  my  chair,  borrowed  from  the  landlady, 
had  to  be  returned  every  night.  Seats  for  the  chil- 
dren —  these  puzzled  me  much.  I  was  haunted  by  a 
New  England  vision  of  neat  little  desks  and  chairs, 
but,  alas!  the  reality  was  rough  plank  benches  with- 
out backs,  and  at  times  without  legs.  They  had  the 
one  virtue  of  making  naps  dangerous,  —  possibly  fatal, 
for  the  floor  was  not  to  be  trusted. 

It  was  a  hot  morning  late  in  July  when  the  school 
opened.  I  trembled  when  I  heard  the  patter  of  little 
feet  down  the  dusty  road,  and  saw  the  growing  row 


My  First  School  33 

of  dark  solemn  faces  and  bright  eager  eyes  facing  me. 
First  came  Josie  and  her  brothers  and  sisters.  The 
longing  to  know,  to  be  a  student  in  the  great  school  at 
Nashville,  hovered  like  a  star  above  this  child-woman 
amid  her  work  and  worry,  and  she  studied  doggedly. 
There  were  the  Dowells  from  their  farm  over  toward 
Alexandria,  —  Fanny,  with  her  smooth  black  face  and 
wondering  eyes;  Martha,  brown  and  dull;  the  pretty 
girl-wife  of  a  brother,  and  the  younger  brood. 

There  were  the  Burkes,  —  two  brown  and  yellow 
lads,  and  a  tiny  haughty-eyed  girl.  Fat  Reuben's  little 
chubby  girl  came,  with  golden  face  and  old-gold  hair, 
faithful  and  solemn.  'Thenie  was  on  hand  early,  —  a 
jolly,  ugly,  good-hearted  girl,  who  slyly  dipped  snuff 
and  looked  after  her  little  bow-legged  brother.  When 
her  mother  could  spare  her,  'Tildy  came,  —  a  midnight 
beauty,  with  starry  eyes  and  tapering  limbs;  and  her 
brother,  correspondingly  homely.  And  then  the  big 
boys,  —  the  hulking  Lawrences;  the  lazy  Neills,  un- 
fathered sons  of  mother  and  daughter ;  Hickman,  with 
a  stoop  in  his  shoulders ;  and  the  rest. 

There  they  sat,  nearly  thirty  of  them,  on  the  rough 
benches,  their  faces  shading  from  a  pale  cream  to  a 
deep  brown,  the  little  feet  bare  and  swinging,  the  eyes 
full  of  expectation,  with  here  and  there  a  twinkle  of 
mischief,  and  the  hands  grasping  Webster's  blue-back 
spelling-book.  I  loved  my  school,  and  the  fine  faith  the 
childi;en  had  in  the  wisdom  of  their  teacher  was  truly 


34  The  Upward  Path 

marvelous.  We  read  and  spelled  together,  wrote  a 
little,  picked  flowers,  sang,  and  listened  to  stories  of 
the  world  beyond  the  hill. 

At  times  the  school  would  dwindle  away,  and  I 
would  start  out.  I  would  visit  Mun  Eddings,  who 
lived  in  two  very  dirty  rooms,  and  ask  why  little  Lu- 
gene,  whose  flaming  face  seemed  ever  ablaze  with  the 
dark-red  hair  uncombed,  was  absent  all  last  week, 
or  why  I  missed  so  often  the  inimitable  rags  of  Mack 
and  Ed.  Then  the  father,  who  worked  Colonel 
Wheeler's  farm  on  shares,  would  tell  me  how  the  crops 
needed  the  boys;  and  the  thin,  slovenly  mother,  whose 
face  was  pretty  when  washed,  assured  me  that  Lugene 
must  mind  the  baby.  "But  we'll  start  them  again  next 
week.'^  When  the  Lawrences  stopped,  I  knew  that  the 
doubts  of  the  old  folks  about  book-learning  had  con- 
quered again,  and  so,  toiling  up  the  hill,  and  getting 
as  far  into  the  cabin  as  possible,  I  put  Cicero  "pro 
Archia  Poeta"  into  the  simplest  English  with  local 
applications,  and  usually  convinced  them  —  for  a  week 
or  so. 

On  Friday  nights  I  often  went  home  with  some  of  the 
children,  —  sometimes  to  Doc  Burke's  farm.  He  was 
a  great,  loud,  thin  Black,  ever  working,  and  trying  to 
buy  the  seventy-five  acres  of  hill  and  dale  where  he 
lived;  but  people  said  that  he  would  surely  fail,  and 
the  "white  folks  would  get  it  all."  His  wife  was  a 
magnificent  Amazon,  with  saffron  face  and  shining 


My  First  School  35 

hair,  uncorseted  and  barefooted,  and  the  children  were 
strong  and  beautiful.  They  lived  in  a  one-and-a-half- 
room  cabin  in  the  hollow  of  the  farm,  near  the  spring. 
The  front  room  was  full  of  great  fat  white  beds,  scru- 
pulously neat;  and  there  were  bad  chromos  on  the 
walls,  and  a  tired  center-table.  In  the  tiny  back 
kitchen  I  was  often  invited  to  "take  out  and  help" 
myself  to  fried  chicken  and  wheat  biscuit,  "meat''  and 
corn  pone,  string-beans  and  berries. 

At  first  I  used  to  be  a  little  alarmed  at  the  approach 
of  bedtime  in  the  lone  bedroom,  but  embarrassment 
was  very  deftly  avoided.  First,  all  the  children  nodded 
and  slept,  and  were  stowed  away  in  one  great  pile  of 
goose  feathers;  next,  the  mother  and  the  father  dis- 
creetly slipped  away  to  the  kitchen  while  I  went  to 
bed;  then,  blowing  out  the  dim  light,  they  retired  in 
the  dark.  In  the  morning  all  were  up  and  away  be- 
fore I  thought  of  awaking.  Across  the  road,  where 
fat  Reuben  lived,  they  all  went  out-doors  while  the 
teacher  retired,  because  they  did  not  boast  the  luxury 
of  a  kitchen. 

I  liked  to  stay  with  the  Dowells,  for  they  had  four 
rooms  and  plenty  of  good  country  fare.  Uncle  Bird 
had  a  small,  rough  farm,  all  woods  and  hills,  miles 
from  the  big  road;  but  he  was  full  of  tales,  —  he 
preached  now  and  then,  —  and  with  his  children,  ber- 
ries, horses,  and  wheat  he  was  happy  and  prosperous. 
Often,  to  keep  the  peace,  I  must  go  where  life  was 


36  The  Upward  Path 

less  lovely ;  for  instance,  'Tildy's  mother  was  incorrigi- 
bly dirty,  Reuben's  larder  was  limited  seriously,  and 
herds  of  untamed  insects  wandered  over  the  Ed- 
dingses'  beds.  Best  of  all  I  loved  to  go  to  Josie's,  and  sit 
on  the  porch,  eating  peaches,  while  the  mother  bustled 
and  talked :  how  Josie  had  bought  the  sewing-machine ; 
how  Josie  worked  at  service  in  winter,  but  that  four 
dollars  a  month  was  "mighty  little"  wages;  how  Josie 
longed  to  go  away  to  school,  but  that  it  "looked  like" 
they  never  could  get  far  enough  ahead  to  let  her ;  how 
the  crops  failed  and  the  well  was  yet  unfinished;  and, 
finally,  how  "mean"  some  of  the  white  folks  were. 

For  two  summers  I  lived  in  this  little  world ;  it  was 
dull  and  humdrum.  The  girls  looked  at  the  hill  in 
wistful  longing,  and  the  boys  fretted  and  haunted 
Alexandria.  Alexandria  was  "town,"  —  a  straggling, 
lay  village  of  houses,  churches,  and  shops,  and  an  aris- 
tocracy of  Toms,  Dicks,  and  Captains.  Cuddled  on 
the  hill  to  the  north  was  the  village  of  the  colored 
folks,  who  lived  in  three-  or  four-room  unpainted  cot- 
tages, some  neat  and  homelike,  and  some  dirty.  The 
dwellings  were  scattered  rather  aimlessly,  but  they 
centered  about  the  twin  temples  of  the  hamlet,  the 
Methodist  and  the  Hard-Shell  Baptist  churches.  These, 
in  turn,  leaned  gingerly  on  a  sad-colored  schoolhouse. 
Hither  my  little  world  wended  its  crooked  way  on 
Sunday  to  meet  other  worlds,  and  gossip,  and  wonder, 
and  make  the  weekly  sacrifice  with  frenzied  priest  at 


My  First  School  37 

the  altar  of  the  "old-time  religion."  Then  the  soft 
melody  and  mighty  cadences  of  Negro  song  fluttered 
and  thundered. 

I  have  called  my  tiny  community  a  world,  and  so  its 
isolation  made  it;  and  yet  there  was  among  us  but  a 
half-awakened  common  consciousness,  sprung  from 
common  joy  and  grief,  at  burial,  birth,  or  wedding; 
from  a  common  hardship  in  poverty,  poor  land,  and 
low  wages;  and  above  all,  from  the  sight  of  the  Veil 
that  hung  between  us  and  Opportunity.  All  this 
caused  us  to  think  some  thoughts  together ;  but  these, 
when  ripe  for  speech,  were  spoken  in  various  languages. 
Those  whose  eyes  twenty-five  or  more  years  before 
had  seen  *Hhe  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord,"  saw 
in  every  present  hindrance  or  help  a  dark  fatalism 
bound  to  bring  all  things  right  in  His  own  good  time. 
The  mass  of  those  to  whom  slavery  was  a  dim  recol- 
lection of  childhood  found  the  world  a  puzzling  thing: 
it  asked  little  of  them,  and  they  answered  with  little, 
and  yet  it  ridiculed  their  offering.  Such  a  paradox 
they  could  not  understand,  and  therefore  sank  into 
listless  indifference,  or  shiftlessness,  or  reckless  bravado. 
There  were,  however,  some  —  such  as  Josie,  Jim  and 
Ben  —  to  whom  War,  Hell,  and  Slavery  were  but 
childhood  tales,  whose  young  appetites  had  been  whet- 
ted to  an  edge  by  school  and  story  and  half-awakened 
thought.  Ill  could  they  be  content,  born  without  and 
beyond  the  World.    And  their  weak  wings  beat  against 


38  The  Upward  Path 

their  barriers,  —  barriers  of  caste,  of  youth,  of  life;  at 
last,  in  dangerous  moments,  against  everything  that 
opposed  even  a  whim. 


ERE  SLEEP  COMES  DOWN  TO  SOOTHE  THE 
WEARY   EYES 

PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the  weary  eyes, 

Which  all  the  day  with  ceaseless  care  have  sought 
The  magic  gold  which  from  the  seeker  flies; 

Ere  dreams  put  on  the  gown  and  cap  of  thought, 
And  make  the  waking  world  a  world  of  lies,  — 

Of  lies  most  palpable,  uncouth,  forlorn, 
That  say  life's  full  of  aches  and  tears  and  sighs,  — 

Oh,  how  with  more  than  dreams  the  soul  is  torn, 
Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the  weary  eyes. 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the  weary  eyes, 

Now  all  the  griefs  and  heartaches  we  have  known 
Come  up  like  poisonous  vapors  that  arise 

From  some  base  witch's  caldron,  when  the  crone, 
To  work  some  potent  spell,  her  magic  plies. 

The  past  which  held  its  share  of  bitter  pain. 
Whose  ghost  we  prayed  that  Time  might  exorcise, 

Comes  up,  is  lived  and  suffered  o'er  again, 
Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the  weary  eyes. 


Ere  Sleep  Comes  Down  39 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the  weary  eyes, 
What  phantoms  fill  the  dimly  lighted  room; 

What  ghostly  shades  in  awe-creating  guise 

.   Are  bodied  forth  within  the  teeming  gloom. 

What  echoes  great  of  sad  and  soul-sick  cries, 
And  pangs  of  vague  inexplicable  pain 

That  pay  the  spirit^s  ceaseless  enterprise, 
Come  thronging  through  the  chambers  of  the  brain, 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the  weary  eyes. 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the  weary  eyes. 

Where  ranges  forth  the  spirit  far  and  free? 
Through  what  strange  realms  and  unfamiliar  skies 

Tends  her  far  course  to  lands  of  mystery? 
To  lands  unspeakable  —  beyond  surmise. 

Where  shapes  unknowable  to  being  spring, 
Till,  faint  of  wing,  the  Fancy  fails  and  dies 

Much  wearied  with  the  spirit's  journeying, 
Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the  weary  eyes. 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the  weary  eyes. 

Now  questioneth  the  soul  that  other  soul  — 
The  inner  sense  which  neither  cheats  nor  lies, 

But  self  exposes  unto  self,  a  scroll 
Full  writ  with  all  life's  acts  unwise  or  wise, 

In  characters  indelible  and  known  ; 
So,  trembling  with  the  shock  of  sad  surprise, 

The  soul  doth  view  its  awful  self  alone, 
Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the  weary  eyes. 


40  The  Upward  Path 

iWhen  sleep  comes  down  to  seal  the  weary  eyes, 

The  last  dear  sleep  whose  soft  embrace  is  balm, 
And  whom  sad  sorrow  teaches  us  to  prize 

For  kissing  all  our  passions  into  calm, 
Ah,  then,  no  more  we  heed  the  sad  world's  cries, 

Or  seek  to  probe  th'  eternal  mystery, 
Or  fret  our  souls  at  long-withheld  replies. 

At  glooms  through  which  our  visions  cannot  see. 
When  sleep  comes  down  to  seal  the  weary  eyes. 


THE   LAND    OF   LAUGHTER 

ANGELINA  W.  GRIMKE 

Once  upon  a  time  there  were  two  dear  little  boys, 
and  they  were  all  alone  in  the  world.  They  lived  with 
a  cruel  old  man  and  old  woman,  who  made  them  work 
hard,  very  hard  —  all  day,  and  beat  them  when  they 
did  not  move  fast  enough,  and  always,  every  night,  be- 
fore they  went  to  bed.  They  slept  in  an  attic  on  a  rick- 
ety, narrow  bed,  that  went  screech !  screech !  whenever 
they  moved.  And,  in  the  summer,  they  nearly  died 
with  the  heat  up  there;  and  in  the  winter  with  the 
cold. 

One  wintry  night,  when  they  were  both  weeping 
very  bitterly  after  a  particularly  hard  beating,  they 
suddenly  heard  a  pleasant  voice  saying: 


The  Land  of  Laughter  41 

"Why  are  you  crying,  little  boys?'' 

They  looked  up,  and  there  in  the  moonlight,  by  their 
bed,  was  the  dearest  little  old  lady.  She  was  dressed 
all  in  grey,  from  the  peak  of  her  little  pointed  hat  to 
her  little,  buckled  shoes.  She  held  a  black  cane  much 
taller  than  her  little  self.  Her  hair  fell  about  her  ears 
in  tiny,  grey  corkscrew  curls;  and  they  bobbed  about 
as  she  moved.  Her  eyes  were  black  and  bright  —  as 
bright  as  —  well,  as  that  lovely,  white  light  in  the  fire. 
And  her  cheeks  were  as  red  as  an  apple. 

"Why  are  you  crying,  little  boys?''  she  asked  again, 
in  a  lovely,  low,  little  voice. 

"Because  we  are  tired  and  sore  and  hungry  and  cold ; 
and  we  are  all  alone  in  the  world;  and  we  don't  know 
how  to  laugh  any  more.  We  should  so  like  to  laugh 
again." 

"Why,  that's  easy,"  she  said,  "it's  just  like  this," 
and  she  laughed  a  little,  joyous,  musical  laugh.  "Try ! " 
she  commanded. 

They  tried,  but  their  laughing  boxes  were  very  rusty 
and  they  made  horrid  sounds. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "I  advise  you  to  pack  up,  and  go 
away,  as  soon  as  you  can,  to  the  Land  of  Laughter. 
You'll  soon  learn  there,  I  can  tell  you." 

"Is  there  such  a  land?"  they  asked  doubtfully. 

"To  be  sure  there  is,"  she  answered,  the  least  bit 
sharply. 

"We  never  heard  of  it,"  they  said. 


42  The  Upward  Path 

"Well,  I'm  sure  there  must  be  plenty  of  things  you 
never  heard  about/'  she  said  just  the  "leastest"  bit 
more  sharply.  "In  a  moment  you'll  be  telling  me  the 
flowers  don't  talk  together,  and  the  birds." 

"We  never  heard  of  such  a  thing,"  they  said  in  sur- 
prise, their  eyes  like  saucers. 

"There!"  she  said,  bobbing  her  little  curls.  "What 
did  I  tell  you.    You  have  much  to  learn." 

"How  do  you  get  to  the  Land  of  Laughter?"  they 
asked. 

"You  go  out  of  the  eastern  gate  of  the  town,  just  as 
the  sun  is  rising;  and  you  take  the  highway  there,  and 
follow  it;  and  if  you  go  with  it  long  enough,  it  will 
bring  you  to  the  gate  of  the  Land  of  Laughter.  It  is  a 
long,  long  way  from  here;  and  it  will  take  you  many 
days." 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  her  mouth  when,  lo! 
the  little  lady  disappeared,  and  where  she  had  stood 
was  the  white  square  of  moonlight  —  nothing  else. 

And  without  more  ado  these  two  little  boys  put 
their  arms  round  each  other,  and  fell  fast  asleep.  And 
in  the  grey,  just  before  daybreak,  they  awoke  and 
dressed;  and  putting  on  their  little  ragged  caps  and 
mittens,  for  it  was  a  wintry  day,  they  stole  out  of 
the  house,  and  made  for  the  eastern  gate.  And  just  as 
they  reached  it  and  passed  through,  the  whole  east 
leapt  into  fire. 


The  Land  of  Laughter 


43 


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^^CS) 


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?'T, 


^31:1 


^&:^H 


?ii?;iri 


aH 


^fV^i 


^^?^r 


44  The  Upward  Path 

All  day  they  walked,  and  many  days  thereafter;' 
and  kindly  people,  by  the  way,  took  them  in  and  gave 
them  food  and  drink  and  sometimes  a  bed  at  night. 
Often  they  slept  by  the  roadside;  but  they  didn't  mind 
that  for  the  climate  was  delightful  —  not  too  hot,  and 
not  too  cold.  They  soon  threw  away  their  ragged  little 
mittens. 

They  walked  for  many  days ;  and  there  was  no  Land 
of  Laughter.  Once  they  met  an  old  man,  richly  dressed, 
with  shining  jewels  on  his  fingers,  and  he  stopped  them 
and  asked: 

"Where  are  you  going  so  fast,  little  boys?" 

"We  are  going  to  the  Land  of  Laughter,"  they  said 
very  gravely. 

"That,"  said  the  old  man,  "is  a  very  foolish  thing  to 
do.  Come  with  me  and  I  will  take  you  to  the  Land  of 
Riches.  I  will  cover  you  with  beautiful  garments,  and 
give  you  jewels  and  a  castle  to  live  in  with  servants  and 
horses  and  many  things  besides." 

And  they  said  to  him,  "No,  we  wish  to  learn  how 
to  laugh  again;  we  have  forgotten  how,  and  we  are 
going  to  the  Land  of  Laughter." 

"You  will  regret  not  going  with  me.  See  if  you 
don't,"  he  said,  and  he  left  them  in  quite  a  huff. 

And  they  walked  again,  many  days,  and  again  they 
met  an  old  man.  He  was  tall  and  imposing-looking 
and  very  dignified.    And  he  said: 

"Where  are  you  going  so  fast,  little  boys?" 


The  Land  of  Laughter  45 

"We  are  going  to  the  Land  of  Laughter,"  they  said 
together  very  seriously. 

"What!"  he  said,  "that  is  an  extremely  foolish  thing 
to  do.  Come  with  me,  and  I  will  give  you  power.  I 
will  make  you  great  men;  generals,  kings,  emperors. 
Whatever  you  desire  to  accomplish  will  be  permitted 
you." 

And  they  said  politely : 

"Thank  you,  very  much,  but  we  have  forgotten  how 
to  laugh ;  and  we  are  going  there  to  learn  how." 

He  looked  upon  them  haughtily,  without  speaking, 
and  disappeared. 

And  they  walked  and  walked  more  days;  and  they 
met  another  old  man.  And  he  was  clad  in  rags;  and 
his  face  was  thin ;  and  his  eyes  were  unhappy.  And  he 
whispered  to  them: 

"Where  are  you  going  so  fast,  little  boys?*' 

"We  are  going  to  the  Land  of  Laughter,"  they  an- 
swered, without  a  smile. 

"Laughter !  laughter !  that  is  useless.  Come  with  me 
and  I  will  show  you  the  beauty  of  life  through  sacri- 
fice, suffering  for  others.  That  is  the  only  life.  I  come 
from  the  Land  of  Sacrifice." 

And  they  thanked  him  kindly,  but  said : 

"We  have  suffered  enough.  We  have  forgotten  how 
to  laugh.  We  would  learn  again."  And  they  went  on ; 
and  he  looked  after  them  wistfully. 

They  walked  more  days ;  and  at  last  they  came  to  the 


46  The  Upward  Path 

Land  of  Laughter.  And  how  do  you  suppose  they 
knew  this?  Because  they  could  hear,  over  the  wall, 
the  sound  of  joyous  laughter  —  the  laughter  of  men, 
women  and  little  children. 

And  one  sat  guarding  the  gate,  and  they  went  to  her. 

"We  have  come  a  long,  long  distance ;  and  we  would 
enter  the  Land  of  Laughter." 

"Let  me  see  you  smile,  first,''  she  said  gently.  "I 
sit  at  the  gate  and  no  one  who  does  not  know  how  to 
smile  may  enter  into  the  Land  of  Laughter.'' 

And  they  tried  to  smile,  but  could  not. 

"Go  away  and  practise,"  she  said  kindly,  "and  come 
back  tomorrow." 

And  they  went  away,  and  practised  all  night  how  to 
smile;  and,  in  the  morning,  they  returned.  And  the 
gentle  lady  at  the  gate  said: 

"Dear  little  boys,  have  you  learned  how  to  smile?'' 

And  they  said:  "We  have  tried.    How  is  this?" 

"Better,"  she  said,  "much  better.  Practise  some  more, 
and  come  back  tomorrow." 

And  they  went  away  obediently  and  practised. 

And  they  came  the  third  day.    And  she  said: 

"Now,  try  again." 

And  tears  of  delight  came  into  her  lovely  eyes. 

"Those  were  very  beautiful  smiles,"  she  said.  "Now 
you  may  enter." 

And  she  unlocked  the  gate  and  kissed  them  both, 
and  they  entered  the  beautiful  Land  of  Laughter. 


TJie  Web  of  Circumstance  47 

Never  had  they  seen  such  blue  skies,  such  green  trees 
and  grass;  never  had  they  heard  such  bird  song. 

And  people,  men,  women  and  children,  laughing 
softly,  came  to  meet  them,  and  took  them  in,  and  made 
them  at  home;  and  soon,  very  soon,  they  learned  to 
laugh.  All  day  they  laughed,  and  even  in  their  sleep. 
And  they  grew  up  here,  and  married,  and  had  laugh- 
ing, happy  children.  And  sometimes  they  thought  of 
the  Land  of  Riches,  and  said,  "Ah!  well";  and  some- 
times of  the  Land  of  Power,  and  sighed  a  little;  and 
sometimes  of  the  Land  of  Sacrifice  —  and  their  eyes 
were  wistful.  But  they  soon  forgot,  and  laughed 
again.  And  they  grew  old,  laughing.  And  when  they 
died  —  a  laugh  was  on  their  lips.  Thus  are  things  in 
the  beautiful  Land  of  Laughter. 

THE  WEB   OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

CHARLES  W.   CHESNUTT 

Some  time,  we  are  told,  when  the  cycle  of  years  has 
rolled  around,  there  is  to  be  another  golden  age,  when 
all  men  will  dwell  together  in  love  and  harmony,  and 
when  peace  and  righteousness  shall  prevail  for  a  thou- 
sand years.  God  speed  the  day,  and  let  not  the  shining 
thread  of  hope  become  so  enmeshed  in  the  web  of  cir- 
cumstance that  we  lose  sight  of  it;  but  give  us  here 
and  there,  and  now  and  then,  some  little  foretaste  of 
this  golden  age,  that  we  may  the  more  patiently  and 
hopefully  await  its  coming! 


48  The  Upward  Path 

IS   THE   GAME   WORTH  THE   CANDLE? 

JAMES  E.   SHEPARD 

A  man's  life  depends  upon  his  emotions,  his  aspira- 
tions, his  determinations. 

A  young  man,  somebody's  son,  starts  out  with  the 
determination  that  the  world  is  indebted  to  him  for  a 
good  time.  "Dollars  were  made  to  spend.  I  am  young, 
and  every  man  must  sow  his  wild  oats  and  then  set- 
tle down.  I  want  to  be  a  *hail  fellow  well  met'  with 
every  one.'' 

With  this  determination  uppermost  in  his  life  pur- 
pose he  starts  out  to  be  a  good-timer.  Perhaps  some 
mother  expects  to  hear  great  things  of  her  boy,  some 
father's  hopes  are  centered  in  him,  but  what  does  that 
matter?  "I  am  a  good-timer."  From  one  gayety  to 
another,  from  one  glass  to  another,  from  one  sin  to 
another,  and  the  good-timer  at  last  is  broken  in  health, 
deserted  by  friends,  and  left  alone  to  die.  Thus  the 
"man  about  town"  passes  off  the  stage.  When  you  ask 
some  of  his  friends  about  him,  the  answer  is,  "Oh, 
John  was  all  right,  but  he  lived  too  fast.  I  like  good 
times  as  well  as  anyone,  but  I  could  not  keep  up  with 
John."    Was  the  game  worth  the  candle? 

Two  pictures  came  before  my  mind:  two  cousins, 
both  of  them  young  men.  One  started  out  early  in 
life  with  the  determination  of  getting  along  "easy," 


Is  the  Game  Worth  the  Candle  49 

shirking  work,  and  looking  for  a  soft  snap.  His  motto 
was,  "The  world  owes  me  a  living,  and  I  am  going 
to  get  mine/'  He  was  employed  first  by  one  firm  and 
then  by  another;  if  anythmg  that  he  considered  hard 
came  along,  he  would  pay  another  fellow  to  do  the  work 
and  he  ''took  things  easy."  It  was  not  long  before  no 
one  would  hire  him.  He  continued  to  hold  the  idea 
that  the  world  was  indebted  to  him  and  furthermore, 
he  arrogated  a  belief  that  what  another  man  had 
accumulated  he  could  borrow  without  his  knowledge. 
He  forged  another  man's  name,  was  detected,  and  sen- 
tenced to  the  penitentiary  and  is  now  wearing  the 
badge  of  felony  and  shame  —  the  convict's  stripes.  Is 
the  game  worth  the  candle? 

The  other  cousin  started  out  with  a  determination 
altogether  different.  He  believed  with  Lord  Brougham, 
that  if  he  were  a  bootblack  he  would  strive  to 
be  the  best  bootblack  in  England.  He  began  in  a  store 
as  a  window-cleaner,  and  washed  windows  so  well  that 
they  sparkled  like  diamonds  under  the  sun.  As  a 
clerk,  no  customer  was  too  insignificant  to  be  greeted 
with  a  smile  or  pleasant  word;  no  task  was  too  great 
for  him  to  attempt.  Thus  step  by  step,  he  advanced, 
each  day  bringing  new  duties  and  difficulties  but  each 
day  also  bringing  new  strength  and  determinationr  to 
master  them,  and  today  that  cousin  is  a  man  of  wealth 
and  an  honored  citizen,  blessed,  too,  with  a  happy 
home. 


50  The  Upward  Path 

Some  young  men  start  life  with  the  idea  that  every 
dollar  made  requires  that  one  dollar  and  a  half  shall 
be  spent ;  in  order  to  be  noticed  they  must  make  a  big 
show,  give  big  dinners,  carriage  drives,  and  parties,  in- 
vite friends  to  the  theaters,  and  have  a  "swelF'  time; 
must  do  like  Mr.  ''So-and-So/'  They  forget  in  their 
desire  to  copy,  that  Mr.  "So-and-So,"  their  pattern, 
has  already  made  his  fortune;  that  he  began  to  save 
before  he  began  to  spend.  But  no,  his  name  appears 
often  in  the  papers  and  they  think  also  that  theirs 
must.  So  they  begin  their  careers.  A  few  years  pass. 
The  young  men  marry;  their  debts  begin  to  accumu- 
late and  to  press  them,  their  countenances  are  always 
woe-begone;  where  once  were  smiles,  now  are  frowns, 
and  the  homes  are  pictures  of  gloom  and  shadows.  The 
lesson  is  plain. 

Debt  IS  the  greatest  burden  that  can  be  put  upon 
man;  it  makes  him  afraid  to  look  honest  men  in  the 
face.  No  man  can  be  a  leader  in  the  fullest  sense  who 
is  burdened  by  a  great  debt.  If  there  is  any  young 
man  who  is  spending  more  than  he  is  making,  let  him 
ask  himself  the  question,  Is  the  game  worth  the 
candle? 

I  know  another  young  man  who  believed  he  could 
be  happy  by  spending  one-third  of  what  he  made  and 
saving  the  other  portion.  He  said  to  me,  "some  day  I 
want  to  marry  and  I  want  to  treat  my  wife  better,  if 
possible,  than  she  was  treated  at  home.     I  want  to 


Is  the  Game  Worth  the  Candle  51 

respect  my  fellow  man,  I  want  to  be  a  leader,  and  I 
know  I  can  only  do  so  by  saving  a  part  of  what  I 
make."  It  was  my  good  pleasure,  a  few  weeks  ago, 
to  visit  the  city  where  this  young  man  is  practising 
medicine.  He  carried  me  over  that  town  in  an  auto- 
mobile, he  entertained  me  in  his  $5000  home,  he 
showed  me  other  property  which  he  owned.  Ah,  his 
indeed  was  a  happy  home.  Life  to  him  was  blessedly 
real. 

A  young  man  starts  out  in  life  with  the  determina- 
tion to  fight  his  way  by  physical  force  to  the  front 
ranks.  Bruised,  disfigured,  or  killed,  he  is  forced  back 
even  beyond  the  lines  again.  A  religiously  inclined 
youth  asked  his  pastor,  "Do  you  think  it  would  be 
wrong  for  me  to  learn  the  noble  art  of  self-defense?" 
"Certainly  not,"  replied  the  pastor,  "I  learned  it  in 
youth  myself,  and  I  have  found  it  of  great  value  in  my 
life."  "Indeed,  sir,  did  you  learn  the  Old  English 
system  or  the  Sullivan  system"  "Neither;  I  learned 
Solomon's  system!"  replied  the  minister.  "Yes,  you 
will  find  it  laid  down  in  the  first  verse  of  the  fifteenth 
chapter  of  Proverbs,  'A  soft  answer  turneth  away 
wrath' ;  it  is  the  best  system  of  self-defense  I  know." 

Another  young  man  starts  life  with  a  wrong  idea  re- 
garding city  and  country  life.  Born  in  the  country  he 
is  free,  his  thoughts  and  ambitions  can  feed  on  a  pure 
atmosphere,  but  he  thinks  his  conditions  and  his  sur- 
roundings are  circumscribed;   he  longs  for  the  city, 


52  The  Upward  Path 

with  its  bigness,  its  turmoil,  and  its  conflicts.  He  leaves 
the  old  homestead,  the  quiet  village,  the  country  peo- 
ple, and  hies  himself  to  the  city.  He  forgets  to  a  large 
extent  the  good  boy  he  used  to  be,  in  the  desire  to  keep 
up  with  the  fashions  and  to  make  the  people  forget 
that  he  was  once  a  country  boy.  City  life,  as  is  often 
the  case,  breaks  up  his  youth,  destroys  his  morals, 
undermines  his  character,  steals  his  reputation,  and 
finally  leaves  the  promising  youth  a  wrecked  man.  Was 
the  game  worth  the  candle? 

Young  men,  never  be  ashamed  of  the  old  log-cabin 
in  the  country,  or  the  old  bonnet  your  mother  used  to 
wear,  or  the  jean  pants  your  father  used  to  toil  in.  I 
had  rather  be  a  poor  country  boy  with  limited  sur- 
roundings and  a  pure  heart  than  to  be  a  city  man  be- 
decked in  the  latest  fashions  and  weighted  down  with 
money,  having  no  morals,  no  character.  I  had  rather 
have  the  religion  and  faith  of  my  fathers  than  to  have 
the  highest  offices.  I  had  rather  have  glorious  life, 
pure  and  lofty,  than  to  have  great  riches.  Sir  Walter 
Scott  was  right  when  he  said : 

"Sound,  sound  the  clarion,  fill  the  fife. 

To  all  the  sensual  world  proclaim: 
One  crowded  hour  of  glorious  life 
Is  worth  an  age  without  a  name." 

There  are  two  old  Dutch  words  which  have  re- 
sounded through  the  world,    "Neen  nimmer,''    "No, 


Is  the  Game  Worth  the  Candle  53 

never."  The  fleets  of  Spain  heard  it,  and  understood 
it  fully,  when  they  saw  the  sinking  Dutch  ships  with 
the  flags  nailed  to  the  shattered  mainmast,  crying, 
^'Neen  nimmer/'  which  indicated  that  they  would 
never  surrender. 

Will  the  young  men  who  are  to  be  the  leaders,  spend 
their  hours  in  riotous  living?  No,  never!  Will  they 
be  false  to  duty?  No,  never!  Will  they  shirk?  No, 
never!  Will  they  be  disloyal  to  self,  to  home,  to 
country,  and  to  God?    No,  never! 

Croesus  was  a  rich  man,  a  king.  One  day  Croesus 
said  to  Solon,  the  philosopher,  "Do  you  not  think  I  am 
a  happy  man?"  Solon  answered,  "Alas,  I  do  not  know, 
Croesus;  that  life  is  happy  that  ends  well."  A  few 
years  later  when  Croesus  had  lost  his  wealth,  his  king- 
dom, and  his  health,  and  had  been  deserted  by  those 
who  in  his  days  of  glory  ran  to  do  his  slightest  bidding, 
Croesus  in  anguish  and  misery  exclaimed,  "Solon, 
Solon,  thou  saidst  truly  that  life  is  well  and  happy  that 
ends  well." 


54  The  Upward  Path 

0  BLACK  AND  UNKNOWN  BARDS 

JAMES  WELDON  JOHNSON 

0  black  and  unknown  bards  of  long  ago, 
How  came  your  lips  to  touch  the  sacred  fire? 
How,  in  your  darkness,  did  you  come  to  know 
The  power  and  beauty  of  the  minstrel's  lyre? 
Who  first  from  midst  his  bonds  lifted  his  eyes? 
Who  first  from  out  the  still  watch,  lone  and  long, 
Feeling  the  ancient  faith  of  prophets  rise 
Within  his  dark-kept  soul,  burst  into  song? 

Heart  of  what  slave  poured  out  such  melody 
As  "Steal  away  to  Jesus"?  On  its  strains 
His  spirit  must  have  nightly  floated  free, 
Though  still  about  his  hands  he  felt  his  chains. 
Who  heard  great  "Jordan  roll"?  Whose  starward  eye 
Saw  chariot  "swing  low"?    And  who  was  he 
That  breathed  that  comforting,  melodic  sigh, 
"Nobody  knows  de  trouble  I  see?" 

What  merely  living  clod,  what  captive  thing, 
Could  up  toward  God  through  all  its  darkness  grope, 
And  find  within  its  deadened  heart  to  sing 
These  songs  of  sorrow,  love,  and  faith,  and  hope? 
How  did  it  catch  that  subtle  undertone, 
That  note  in  music  heard  not  with  the  ears? 
How  sound  the  elusive  reed  so  seldom  blown, 
Which  stirs  the  soul  or  melts  the  heart  to  tears. 


O  Black  and  Unknown  Bards  55 

Not  that  great  German  master  in  his  dream 

Of  harmonies  that  thundered  'mongst  the  stars 

At  the  creation,  ever  heard  a  theme 

Nobler  than  "Go  down,  Moses."     Mark  its  bars, 

How  like  a  mighty  trumpet-call  they  stir 

The  blood.    Such  are  the  notes  that  men  have  sung 

Going  to  valorous  deeds;  such  tones  there  were 

That  helped  make  history  when  Time  was  young. 

There  is  a  wide,  wide  wonder  in  it  all. 

That  from  degraded  rest  and  servile  toil 

The  fiery  spirit  of  the  seer  should  call 

These  simple  children  of  the  sun  and  soil. 

0  black  slave  singers,  gone,  forgot,  unfamed. 

You  —  you  alone,  of  all  the  long,  long  line 

Of  those  whoVe  sung  untaught,  unknown,  unnamed, 

Have  stretched  out  upward,  seeking  the  divine. 

You  sang  not  deeds  of  heroes  or  of  kings; 
No  chant  of  bloody  war,  no  exulting  pean 
Of  arms-won  triumphs;  but  your  humble  strhigs 
You  touched  in  chord  with  music  empyrean. 
You  sang  far  better  than  you  knew;  the  songs 
That  for  your  listeners'  hungry  hearts  sufficed 
Still  live,  —  but  more  than  this  to  you  belongs : 
You  sang  a  race  from  wood  and  stone  to  Christ. 


56  The  Upward  Path 


THE   GREATEST   MENACE   OF 
THE   SOUTH 

WILLIAM    J.    EDWARDS 

In  every  age  there  are  great  and  pressing  problems 
to  be  solved.  Perhaps  no  section  of  this  country  has 
been  confronted  with  more  difficult  problems  than 
the  South.  I  therefore  wish  to  present  what  I  con- 
sider to  be  the  greatest  menace  of  this  section. 

The  one  thing  to-day,  in  which  we  stand  in  greatest 
danger,  is  the  loss  of  the  fertility  of  the  soil.  If  we 
should  lose  this,  as  we  are  gradually  doing,  then  all  is 
lost.  If  we  should  save  it,  then  all  other  things  will 
be  added.  Our  great  need  is  the  conservation  and 
preservation  of  the  soil. 

The  increased  crops  which  we  have  in  the  South 
occasionally,  are  not  due  to  improved  methods  of 
farming,  but  to  increased  acreage.  Thousands  of 
acres  of  new  land  are  added  each  year  and  our  in- 
crease in  farm  production  is  due  to  the  strength  of 
these  fresh  lands.  There  is  not  much  more  woodland 
to  be  taken  in  as  new  farm  lands,  for  this  source  has 
been  well  nigh  exhausted.  We  must  then,  within  a 
few  years,  expect  a  gradual  reduction  in  the  farm  pro- 
duction of  the  South. 

Already  the  old  farm  lands  that  have  been  in  culti- 


The  Greatest  Menace  of  the  South        57 

vation  for  the  past  fifty  or  fifty-five  years  are  prac- 
tically worn  out.  I  have  seen  in  my  day  where  forty 
acres  of  land  twenty  or  twenty-five  years  ago  would 
produce  from  twenty  to  twenty-five  bales  of  cotton 
each  year,  and  from  800  to  1000  bushels  of  corn.  Now, 
these  forty  acres  will  not  produce  more  than  eight  or 
nine  bales  of  cotton  and  hardly  enough  corn  to  feed 
two  horses.  In  fact,  one  small  family  cannot  obtain 
a  decent  support  from  the  land  which  twenty  years 
ago  supported  three  families  in  abundance.  This 
farm  is  not  on  the  hillside,  neither  has  it  been  worn 
away  by  erosion.  It  is  situated  in  the  lowlands,  in 
the  black  prairie,  and  is  considered  the  best  farm  on 
a  large  plantation.  This  condition  obtains  in  all  parts 
of  the  South  today.  This  constant  deterioration  of 
land,  this  gradual  reduction  of  crops  year  after  year, 
if  kept  up  for  the  next  fifty  years,  will  surely  prove 
disastrous  to  the  South. 

Practically  all  the  land  in  the  black  belt  of  the 
South  is  cultivated  by  Negroes  and  the  farm  produc- 
tion has  decreased  so  rapidly  during  the  last  ten  or 
fifteen  years  that  the  average  Negro  farmer  hardly 
makes  sufficient  to  pay  his  rent  and  buy  the  few 
necessaries  of  life. 

Of  course,  here  and  there  where  a  tenant  has  been 
lucky  enough  to  get  hold  of  some  new  land,  he  makes 
a  good  crop,  but  after  three  or  four  years  of  cultiva- 
tion, his  crop  begins  to  decrease  and  this  decrease  is 


58  The  Upward  Path 

kept  up  as  long  as  he  keeps  the  land.  Instead  of  im- 
proving, the  tenant's  condition  becomes  worse  each 
year  until  he  finds  it  impossible  to  support  his  family 
on  the  farm.  Farm  after  farm  is  being  abandoned 
or  given  up  to  the  care  of  the  old  men  and  women. 
Already,  most  of  these  are  too  old  and  feeble  to  do 
effective  work. 

Now,  the  chief  cause  of  these  farms  becoming  less 
productive  is  the  failure  on  the  part  of  the  farmers 
to  add  something  to  the  land  after  they  have  gathered 
their  crops.  They  seem  to  think  that  the  land  con- 
tains an  inexhaustible  supply  of  plant  food.  Another 
cause  is  the  failure  of  the  farmer  to  rotate  his  crop. 
There  are  farms  being  cultivated  in  the  South  today 
where  the  same  piece  of  land  has  been  planted  in  cot- 
ton every  year  for  forty  or  fifty  years.  Forty  years 
ago,  this  same  land  would  yield  from  one  bale  to  one 
and  a  half  per  acre.  And  today  it  will  take  from  four 
to  six  acres  to  produce  one  bale. 

Still  another  cause  for  the  deterioration  of  the  soil 
is  erosion.  There  is  no  effort  put  forth  on  the  tenant's 
part  to  prevent  his  farm  from  washing  away.  The 
hillside  and  other  rolling  lands  are  not  terraced  and 
after  being  in  use  four  or  five  years,  practically  all  of 
these  lands  are  washed  away  and  as  farm  lands  they 
are  abandoned.  Not  only  are  the  hillside  lands  un- 
protected from  the  beating  rains  and  flowing  streams, 
but  the  bottom  or  lowlands  are  not  properly  drained, 


The  Greatest  Menace  of  the  South        59 

and  the  sand  washed  down  from  the  hill,  the  chaff 
and  raft  from  previous  rains  soon  fill  the  ditches  and 
creeks  and  almost  any  ordinary  rain  will  cause  an 
overflow  of  these  streams. 

Under  these  conditions  an  average  crop  is  impos- 
sible even  in  the  best  of  years.  At  present  the  South 
does  not  produce  one-half  of  the  foodstuff  that  it  con- 
sumes and  if  the  present  conditions  of  things  continue 
for  the  next  fifty  years,  this  section  of  the  country 
will  be  on  the  verge  of  starvation  and  famines  will  be 
a  frequent  occurrence.  Of  course,  Negro  starvation 
will  come  first,  but  white  man  starvation  will  surely 
follow.  I  believe,  therefore,  that  I  am  justified  in  say- 
ing that  there  is  even  more  danger  in  Negro  starva- 
tion than  there  is  in  Negro  domination. 

I  have  noticed  in  this  country  that  the  sins  of  the 
races  are  contagious.  If  the  Negro  in  a  community 
be  lazy,  indifferent,  and  careless  about  his  farm,  the 
white  man  in  the  community  will  soon  fall  into  the 
same  habit.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  white  man  is 
smart,  industrious,  energetic  and  persevering  in  his 
general  makeup,  the  Negro  will  soon  fall  into  line; 
so  after  all,  whatever  helps  one  race  in  the  South 
will  help  the  other  and  whatever  degrades  one  race 
in  the  South,  sooner  or  later  will  degrade  the  other. 

But  you  may  reply  to  this  assertion  by  saying  that 
the  Negro  can  go  to  the  city  and  make  an  independent 
living  for  himself  and  family,  but  you  forget  that 


60  The  Upward  Path 

all  real  wealth  must  come  from  the  soil  and  that  the 
city  cannot  prosper  unless  the  country  is  prosperous. 
When  the  country  fails,  the  city  feels  the  effect ;  when 
the  country  weeps,  the  city  moans;  when  agriculture 
dies,  all  die.  Such  are  the  conditions  which  face  us 
today.    Now  for  the  remedy. 

It  is  worth  while  to  remember  that  there  are  ten 
essential  elements  of  plant  food.  If  the  supply  of 
any  one  of  the  elements  fails,  the  crop  will  fail.  These 
ten  elements  are  carbon  and  oxygen  taken  into  the 
leaves  of  the  plant  from  the  air  as  carbon  dioxide ;  hy- 
drogen, a  constituent  of  water  absorbed  through  the 
plant  roots;  nitrogen,  taken  from  the  soil  by  all 
plants  also  secured  from  the  air  by  legumes.  The 
other  elements  are  phosphorus,  potassium,  magne- 
sium, calcium,  iron  and  sulphur,  all  of  which  are  se- 
cured from  the  soil.  The  soil  nitrogen  is  contained 
in  the  organic  matter  or  humus,  and  to  maintain  the 
supply  of  nitrogen  we  should  keep  the  soil  well  stored 
with  organic  matter,  making  liberal  use  of  clover  or 
other  legumes  which  have  power  to  secure  nitrogen 
from  the  inexhaustible  supply  in  the  air. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  one  of  the  ablest  chem- 
ists in  this  country.  Prof.  E.  W.  Clark  of  the  United 
States  Geological  Survey,  has  said  that  an  acre  of 
ground  seven  inches  deep  contains  sufficient  iron  to 
produce  one  hundred  bushels  of  corn  every  year  for 
200,000  years,  sufficient  calcium  to  produce  one  hun- 


The  Greatest  Menace  of  the  South        61 

dred  bushels  of  corn  or  one  bale  of  cotton  each  year  for 
55,000  years,  enough  magnesium  to  produce  such  a 
crop  7,000  years,  enough  sulphur  for  10,000  years  and 
potassium  for  2,600  years,  but  only  enough  phos- 
phorus for  130  years.  The  nitrogen  resting  upon  the 
surface  of  an  acre  of  ground  is  sufficient  to  produce 
one  hundred  bushels  of  corn  or  a  bale  of  cotton  for 
700,000  years;  but  only  enough  in  the  plowed  soil 
to  produce  fifty  such  crops.  In  other  words,  there  are 
enough  of  eight  of  the  elements  of  plant  food  in  the 
ordinary  soil  to  produce  100  bushels  of  corn  per  acre 
or  a  bale  of  cotton  per  acre  for  each  year  for  2,600 
years;  but  only  enough  of  the  other  two,  phosphorus 
and  nitrogen,  to  produce  such  crops  for  forty  or  fifty 
years. 

Let  us  grant  that  most  of  our  farm  lands  in  the 
South  have  been  in  cultivation  for  fifty  or  seventy- 
five  years,  and  in  many  instances  for  one  hundred 
years,  it  is  readily  seen  that  practically  all  of  the 
phosphorus  and  nitrogen  in  the  plowed  soil  have  been 
exhausted.  Is  it  any  wonder  then  that  we  are  having 
such  poor  crops?  The  wonder  is  that  our  crops  have 
kept  up  so  well.  Unless  a  radical  change  is  made  in 
our  mode  of  farming,  we  must  expect  less  and  less 
crops  each  year  until  we  have  no  crops,  or  such  little 
that  we  can  hardly  pay  the  rent. 

To  improve  and  again  make  fertile  our  soils,  we 
must  restore  to  them  the  phosphorus  and  nitrogen 


62  The  Upward  Path 

which  have  been  used  up  in  the  seventy-five  or  more 
crops  that  we  have  gathered  from  them.  This  is  a 
herculean  task  but  this  is  what  confronts  us  and  I  for 
one  beheve  we  can  accomplish  it.  By  the  proper  ro- 
tation of  crops,  including  oats,  clover,  cowpeas,  as  well 
as  cotton  and  corn,  and  a  liberal  use  of  barnyard 
manure  and  cotton  seed  fertilizer,  all  of  the  necessary 
elements  of  plant  food  can  be  restored  to  our  worn-out 
soil.  But  the  proper  use  of  these  requires  much  pains- 
taking study. 

If  the  Negro  is  to  remain  the  farming  class  in  the 
Black  Belt  of  the  South,  then  he  must  be  taught  at 
least  the  rudiments  of  the  modern  methods  of  im- 
proving farming.  He  must  have  agricultural  schools 
and  must  be  encouraged  to  attend  them.  The  loss  of 
the  fertility  of  the  soil  is  the  greatest  menace  of  the 
South.  How  can  we  regain  this  lost  fertility  is  the 
greatest  question  of  the  hour. 


The  Enchanted  Shell  63 

THE   ENCHANTED   SHELL 

H     CORDELIA  RAY 

Fair,  fragile  Una,  golden-haired. 
With  melancholy,  dark  gray  eyes, 
Sits  on  a  rock  by  laughing  waves. 
Gazing  into  the  radiant  skies; 

And  holding  to  her  ear  a  shell, 
A  rosy  shell  of  wondrous  form; 
Quite  plaintively  to  her  it  coos 
Marvelous  lays  of  sea  and  storm. 

It  whispers  of  a  fairy  home 
With  coral  halls  and  pearly  floors, 
Where  mermaids  clad  in  glist'ning  gold 
Guard  smilingly  the  jeweled  doors. 

She  listens  and  her  weird  gray  eyes 
Grow  weirder  in  their  pensive  gaze. 
The  sea  birds  toss  her  tangled  curls, 
The  skiff  lights  glimmer  through  the  haze. 

Oh,  strange  sea-singer!  what  has  lent 
Such  fascination  to  thy  spell? 
Is  some  celestial  guardian 
Prisoned  within  thee,  tiny  shell? 


64 


The  Upward  Path 


The  Enchanted  Shell  65 

The  maid  sits  rapt  until  the  stars 
In  myriad  shining  clusters  gleam; 
"Enchanted  Una,"  she  is  called 
By  boatmen  gliding  down  the  stream. 

The  tempest  beats  the  restless  seas, 
The  wind  blows  loud,  fierce  from  the  skies; 
Sweet,  sylph-like  Una  clasps  the  shell, 
Peace  brooding  in  her  quiet  eyes. 

The  wind  blows  wilder,  darkness  comes. 
The  rock  is  bare,  night  birds  soar  far; 
Thick  clouds  scud  o'er  the  gloomy  heav'ns 
Un visited  by  any  star. 

Where  is  quaint  Una?    On  some  isle. 
Dreaming  'mid  music,  may  she  be? 
Or  does  she  listen  to  the  shell 
In  coral  haUs  within  the  sea? 

The  boatmen  say  on  stormy  nights 
They  see  rare  Una  with  the  shell. 
Sitting  in  pensive  attitude. 
Is  it  a  vision?    Who  can  teU? 


66  The  Upward  Path 

BEHIND   A  GEORGIA   MULE 

JAMES  WELDON  JOHNSON 

Now  if  you  wish  to  travel  fast, 
I  beg  you  not  to  fool 
With  locomotion  that's  procured 
Behind  a  Georgia  mule. 

When  I  was  teaching  school  in  the  backwoods  of 
Georgia  I  had,  one  day,  to  attend  to  some  business  in 
Mudville,  an  embryo  city  about  eleven  miles  from 
my  school.  Now  you  must  know  that  a  country  school 
teacher  can  do  nothing  without  first  consulting  his 
Board  of  Trustees;  so  I  notified  that  honorable  body 
that  there  was  some  business  of  vast  importance  to  be 
attended  to,  and  asked  them  to  meet  me  on  Friday 
afternoon ;  they  all  promised  to  be  on  hand  "two  hours 
b^sun."  Friday  afternoon,  after  school  was  dismissed, 
they  came  in  one  by  one  until  they  had  all  gathered. 

As  the  chairman  called  the  meeting  to  order,  he  said : 
"Brederen,  de  objick  ob  dis  meeting  is  to  consider  de 
ways  ob  pervidin  de  means  ob  transposin  de  'fessar 
to  Mudville."  Now,  by  the  way,  the  chairman  of  the 
Board  was  undoubtedly  intended  by  nature  for  a 
smart  man.  He  had  a  very  strong  weakness  for  using 
big  words  in  the  wrong  place,  and  thought  it  his  special 
duty  to  impress  the  "  'fessar"  at  all  times  with  his 
knowledge  of  the  dictionary.    Well,  after  much  debate 


Behind  a  Georgia  Mule  67 

it  was  finally  decided  that  ''Brudder"  Whitesides  would 
''furnish  de  mule"  and  ''Brudder  Jinks  de  buggy"  and 
that  I  should  start  early  the  next  morning. 

The  next  morning  I  was  up  quite  early,  because  I 
wished  to  start  as  soon  as  possible  in  order  to  avoid 
the  heat  of  the  day.  I  ate  breakfast  and  waited  —  six 
o'clock,  seven  o'clock,  eight  o'clock  —  and  still  that 
promised  beast  had  not  put  in  appearance.  Knowing 
the  proclivity  of  the  mule  to  meander  along  as  his  own 
sweet  will  dictates,  especially  when  the  sun  shines  hot, 
I  began  to  despair  of  reaching  Mudville  at  all  that  day ; 
but  "Brudder"  Jinks,  with  whom  I  boarded,  seeing  my 
melancholy  state  of  mind,  offered  to  hitch  up  Gypsy, 
an  antiquated  specimen  of  the  mule,  whose  general  ap- 
pearance was  that  of  the  skeleton  of  some  prehistoric 
animal  one  sees  in  a  museum. 

I  accepted  this  proposition  with  haste,  and  repented 
at  leisure. 

I  could  see  a  weary,  long-suffering  look  in  that  mule's 
eye,  and  I  could  imagine  how  his  heart  must  have 
sought  the  vicinity  of  his  tail,  when  they  disturbed 
his  dreams  of  green  fields  and  pleasant  pastures,  and 
hitched  him  to  an  old  buggy,  to  encounter  the  stern 
realities  of  a  dusty  road.  "Verily,  verily,"  I  solilo- 
quized, "the  way  of  the  mule  is  hard."  But,  putting 
aside  all  tender  feelings,  I  jumped  into  the  buggy  and 
grasping  a  stick  of  quite  ample  proportions  began  to 
urge  his  muleship  on  his  way. 


68  The  Upward  Path 

Nothing  of  much  consequence  hampered  our  onward 
journey  except  the  breaking  down  of  three  wheels  and 
the  excessive  heat  of  the  sun,  which  great  luminary- 
seemed  not  more  than  ninety-five  miles  away. 

I  arrived  at  Mudville  sometime  between  12  m.  and 
6  p.  M.  After  having  finished  my  business  and  having 
bountifully  fed  my  mule  on  water  and  what  grass  he 
could  nibble  from  around  his  hitching  post,  I  bought 
a  large  watermelon  and  started  for  home.  Before  I 
was  out  of  sight  of  the  town,  I  began  to  have  serious 
misgivings  about  reaching  home  before  a  very  late 
hour.  In  the  morning  by  various  admonitions  and 
applications  of  the  hickory,  I  had  been  able  to  get  my 
mule  into  a  jog  trot,  but  on  the  homeward  journey  he 
would  not  even  get  up  a  respectable  walk.  Well,  we 
trudged  on  for  two  hours  or  more,  when  to  my  dismay 
he  stopped,  —  stopped  still.  As  the  hour  was  getting 
late  and  it  was  growing  dark,  I  began  advising  him  — 
with  the  hickory  —  that  it  was  best  to  proceed,  but  he 
seemed  to  have  hardened  his  heart,  and  his  back  also, 
and  paid  me  no  heed.  There  I  sat  —  all  was  as  still 
as  the  grave,  save  for  the  dismal  hoot  of  the  screech- 
owl.  There  I  was,  five  and  a  half  miles  from  home 
with  no  prospect  of  getting  there. 

I  began  to  coax  my  mule  with  some  words  which  per- 
haps are  not  in  the  Sabbath  School  books,  and  to  em- 
phasize them  with  the  rising  and  falling  inflection  of 
the  stick  across  his  back;  but  still  he  moved  not.  Then 


Behind  a  Georgia  Mule  69 

all  at  once  my  conscience  smote  me.  I  thought  per- 
haps the  faithful  beast  might  be  sick.  My  mind  re- 
verted to  Balaam,  whose  beast  spoke  to  him  when  he 
had  smitten  him  but  three  times  and  here  I  had  smit- 
ten my  beast  about  3,333  times.  I  listened  almost  in 
expectation  of  hearing  him  say,  ''Johnson,  Johnson, 
why  smitest  thou  me  3,333  times?" 

I  got  out  of  the  buggy  and  looked  at  the  mule;  he 
gazed  at  me  with  a  sad  far-away  expression  in  his  eye, 
which  sent  pangs  of  remorse  to  my  heart.  I  thought 
of  the  cruel  treatment  I  had  given  him,  and  on  the 
impulse  of  the  moment  I  went  to  the  buggy,  got  out 
my  large,  luscious  melon,  burst  it  open  and  laid  it  on 
the  ground  before  the  poor  animal;  and  I  firmly  re- 
solved to  be  a  friend  of  the  mule  ever  after,  and  to 
join  the  Humane  Society  as  soon  as  I  reached  Atlanta. 

As  I  watched  that  mule  slowly  munching  away  at 
my  melon,  I  began  to  wonder  if  I  had  not  acted  a  little 
too  hastily  in  giving  it  to  him,  but  I  smothered  that 
thought  when  I  remembered  the  pledge  I  had  just 
taken.  When  he  had  finished  he  looked  around  with  a 
satisfied  air  which  encouraged  me;  so  I  took  hold  of 
his  bridle  and  after  stroking  him  gently  for  a  moment, 
attempted  to  lead  him  off.  But  he  refused  to  be  led. 
He  looked  at  me  from  under  his  shabby  eyebrows,  but 
the  sad,  far-away  expression  had  vanished  and  in  its 
stead  there  was  a  mischievous  gleam,  born  of  malice 
afore-thought.    I  remonstrated  with  him,  but  it  only 


70  The  Upward  Path 

seemed  to  confirm  his  convictions  that  it  was  right 
for  him  to  stand  there.  I  thought  of  my  melon  he 
had  just  devoured;  then  I  grew  wrathy,  and  right  there 
and  then  renounced  all  my  Humane  Society  resolu- 
tions, and  began  to  shower  down  on  that  mule  torrents 
of  abuse  and  hickory  also,  but  all  to  no  effect.  Instead 
of  advancing  he  began  to  "revance."  I  pulled  on  the 
bridle  until  my  hands  and  arms  were  sore,  but  he  only 
continued  to  back  and  pull  me  along  with  him.  When 
I  stopped  pulling  he  stopped  backing,  and  so  things 
went  on  for  the  space  of  about  half  an  hour. 

I  wondered  what  time  it  was.  Just  then  the  moon 
began  to  rise,  from  which  I  knew  it  was  about  9  o^clock. 
My  physical  exertion  began  to  tell  on  me  and 
I  hungered.  Oh,  how  I  hungered  for  a  piece  of  that 
watermelon!  And  I  hit  the  mule  an  extra  blow  as  a 
result  of  those  longings. 

I  was  now  desperate.  I  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the 
road  and  groaned ;  that  groan  came  from  the  depths  of 
my  soul,  and  I  know  that  I  presented  a  perfect  picture 
of  despair.  However,  I  determined  to  gather  all  my 
remaining  strength  for  one  final  effort;  so  I  caressed 
him  up  and  down  the  backbone  two  or  three  times  as 
a  sort  of  persuader,  then  grasping  the  bridle  with  both 
hands,  I  began  to  pull,  pull  as  I  had  never  pulled  be- 
fore and  as  I  never  hope  to  pull  again.  And  he  began 
to  back.    I  continued  to  pull  and  he  continued  to  back. 

How  long  this  order  of  things  might  have  gone  on  I 


Behind  a  Georgia  Mule  71 

do  not  know,  but  just  then  a  brilliant  idea  siruck  me  so 
forcibly  as  to  come  near  knocking  me  down.  I  took 
the  mule  out,  and  by  various  tying,  buckling  and  tang- 
ling, I  hitched  him  up  again,  upside  down,  or  wrong 
side  out,  or,  well,  I  can't  exactly  explain,  but  anyhow 
when  I  got  through  his  tail  pointed  in  the  direction  I 
wanted  him  to  go.  Then  I  got  back  in  the  buggy  and 
taking  hold  of  the  bridle  began  to  pull,  and  he  began 
to  back;  and  I  continued  to  pull,  and  he  continued  to 
back;  and  will  you  believe  me,  that  mule  backed  all 
the  way  home!  It  is  true  we  did  not  travel  very  fast 
but  every  time  he  would  slow  down,  I  would  put  a 
little  extra  force  into  my  pull  and  he  would  put  a 
little  extra  speed  into  his  back.  Ever  and  anon  he 
would  glance  at  me  with  that  mischievous,  malicious 
twinkle,  which  seemed  to  say  "I've  got  you  tonight," 
and  I  would  smile  back  a  quiet,  self-satisfied  smile  and 
give  an  extra  pull. 

But  when  we  got  home,  that  mischievous,  malicious 
twinkle  changed,  and  he  looked  at  me  in  a  dazed  sort 
of  way  and  I  smiled  back  quite  audibly.  And  do  you 
know,  that  mule  has  been  in  a  dark  brown  study  ever 
since.  He  is  trying  to  get  through  his  slow  brain  how 
I  managed  to  make  him  pull  me  home  that  night. 

As  I  jumped  out  of  the  buggy  the  clock  struck  twelve. 
And  there  at  that  solemn  hour  of  the  night,  as  the  pale 
moon  shed  her  silvery  beams  all  around  and  as  the 
bright  stars  peeped  down  upon  me  from  the  ethereal 


72  The  Upward  Path 

blue,  and  the  gentle  zephyrs  wafted  to  me  the  odor  of 
a  hog-pen  in  the  near  distance,  I  vowed  a  vow,  an 
awful  vow,  that  so  long  as  I  breathed  the  vital  air, 
never,  no,  never  again,  would  I  attempt  to  drive  a 
Georgia  mule. 


HAYTI   AND   TOUSSAINT    L'OUVERTURE 

W.   E.   B.   DUBOIS 

It  was  in  the  island  of  Hayti  that  French  slavery 
centered.  Pirates  from  many  nations,  but  chiefly 
French,  began  to  frequent  the  island,  and  in  1663  the 
French  annexed  the  eastern  part,  thus  dividing  the 
island  between  France  and  Spain.  By  1680  there 
were  so  many  slaves  and  mulattoes  that  Louis  XIV 
issued  his  celebrated  Code  Noir,  which  was  notable 
in  compelling  bachelor  masters,  fathers  of  slave  chil- 
dren, to  marry  their  concubines.  Children  followed 
the  condition  of  the  mother  as  to  slavery  or  freedom  ; 
they  could  have  no  property;  harsh  punishments  were 
provided  for,  but  families  could  not  be  separated  by 
sale  except  in  the  case  of  grown  children;  emancipa- 
tion with  full  civil  rights  was  made  possible  for  any 
slave  twenty  years  of  age  or  more.  When  Louisiana 
was  settled  and  the  Alabama  coast,  slaves  were  intro- 
duced there.  Louisiana  was  transferred  to  Spain  in 
1762,   against   the  resistance   of  both   settlers   and 


Hayti  and  Toussaint  UOuverture         73 

slaves,  but  Spain  took  possession  in  1769  and  intro- 
duced more  Negroes. 

Later,  in  Hayti,  a  more  liberal  policy  encouraged 
trade;  war  was  over  and  capital  and  slaves  poured  in. 
Sugar,  coffee,  chocolate,  indigo,  dyes,  and  spices  were 
raised.  There  were  large  numbers  of  mulattoes,  many 
of  whom  were  educated  in  France,  and  many  masters 
married  Negro  women  who  had  inherited  large  prop- 
erties, just  as  in  the  United  States  to-day  white  men 
are  marrying  eagerly  the  landed  Indian  women  in 
the  West.  When  white  immigration  increased  in 
1749,  however,  prejudice  arose  against  these  mulat- 
toes and  severe  laws  were  passed  depriving  them  of 
civil  rights,  entrance  into  the  professions,  and  the 
right  to  hold  office;  severe  edicts  were  enforced  as  to 
clothing,  names,  and  social  intercourse.  Finally,  after 
1777,  mulattoes  were  forbidden  to  come  to  France. 

When  the  French  Revolution  broke  out,  the  Hay- 
tians  managed  to  send  two  delegates  to  Paris.  Never- 
theless the  planters  maintained  the  upper  hand,  and 
one  of  the  colored  delegates,  Oge,  on  returning,  started 
a  small  rebellion.  He  and  his  companions  were  killed 
with  great  brutality.  This  led  the  French  government 
to  grant  full  civil  rights  to  free  Negroes.  Immediately 
planters  and  free  Negroes  flew  to  arms  against  each 
other  and  then,  suddenly,  August  22,  1791,  the  black 
slaves,  of  whom  there  were  four  hundred  and  fifty- 
two  thousand,  arose  in  revolt  to  help  the  free  Negroes. 


74  The  Upward  Path 

For  many  years  runaway  slaves  under  their  own 
chiefs  had  hidden  in  the  mountains.  One  of  the  earliest 
of  these  chiefs  was  Polydor,  in  1724,  who  was  succeeded 
by  Macandal.  The  great  chief  of  these  runaways  or 
"Maroons"  at  the  time  of  the  slave  revolt  was  Jean 
Frangois,  who  was  soon  succeeded  by  Biassou. 

Pierre  Dominic  Toussaint,  known  as  Toussaint 
L^Ouverture,  joined  these  Maroon  bands,  where  he  was 
called  "the  doctor  of  the  armies  of  the  king/'  and  soon 
became  chief  aid  to  Jean  Frangois  and  Biassou.  Upon 
their  deaths  Toussaint  rose  to  the  chief  command.  He 
acquired  complete  control  over  the  blacks,  not  only  in 
military  matters,  but  in  politics  and  social  organiza- 
tion; "the  soldiers  regarded  him  as  a  superior  being, 
and  the  farmers  prostrated  themselves  before  him.  All 
his  generals  trembled  before  him  (Dessalines  did  not 
dare  to  look  in  his  face),  and  all  the  world  trembled 
before  his  generals.'* 

The  revolt  once  started,  blacks  and  mulattoes  mur- 
dered whites  without  mercy  and  the  whites  retaliated. 
Commissioners  were  sent  from  France,  who  asked 
simply  civil  rights  for  freedmen,  and  not  emancipation. 
Indeed  that  was  all  that  Toussaint  himself  had  as  yet 
demanded.  The  planters  intrigued  with  the  British 
and  this,  together  with  the  beheading  of  the  king  (an 
impious  act  in  the  eyes  of  Negroes),  induced  Toussaint 
to  join  the  Spaniards.  In  1793  British  troops  were 
landed  and  the  French  commissioners  in  desperation 


Hayti  and  Toussaint  L/Ouverture         15 

declared  the  slaves  emancipated.  This  at  once  won 
back  Toussaint  from  the  Spaniards.  He  became  su- 
preme in  the  north,  while  Rigaud,  leader  of  the  mu- 
lattoes,  held  the  south  and  the  west.  By  1798  the  Brit- 
ish, having  lost  most  of  their  forces  by  yellow  fever, 
surrendered  Mole  St.  Nicholas  to  Toussaint  and  de- 
parted. Rigaud  finally  left  for  France,  and  Toussaint 
in  1800  was  master  of  Hayti.  He  promulgated  a  con- 
stitution under  which  Hayti  was  to  be  a  self-governing 
colony;  all  men  were  equal  before  the  law,  and  trade 
was  practically  free.  Toussaint  was  to  be  president 
for  life,  with  the  power  to  name  his  successor. 

Napoleon  Bonaparte,  master  of  France,  had  at  this 
time  dreams  of  a  great  American  empire,  and  replied 
to  Toussaint^s  new  government  by  sending  twenty-five 
thousand  men  under  his  brother-in-law  to  subdue  the 
presumptuous  Negroes,  as  a  preliminary  step  to  his 
occupation  and  development  of  the  Mississippi  valley. 
Fierce  fighting  and  yellow  fever  decimated  the  French, 
but  matters  went  hard  with  the  Negroes  too,  and 
Toussaint  finally  offered  to  yield.  He  was  courteously 
received  with  military  honors  and  then,  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, treacherously  seized,  bound,  and  sent  to  France. 
He  was  imprisoned  at  Fort  Joux  and  died,  perhaps  of 
poison,  after  studied  humiliations,  April  7,  1803. 

Thus  perished  the  greatest  of  American  Negroes 
and  one  of  the  great  men  of  all  time,  at  the  age  of 
fifty-six.    A  French  planter  said,  "God  in  his  terres- 


76  The  Upward  Path 

trial  globe  did  not  commune  with  a  purer  spirit."  Wen- 
dell Phillips  said,  "Some  doubt  the  courage  of  the 
Negro.  Go  to  Hayti  and  stand  on  those  fifty  thou- 
sand graves  of  the  best  soldiers  France  ever  had  and 
ask  them  what  they  think  of  the  Negro's  sword.  I 
would  call  him  Napoleon,  but  Napoleon  made  his  way 
to  empire  over  broken  oaths  and  through  a  sea  of 
blood.  This  man  never  broke  his  word.  I  would  call 
him  Cromwell,  but  Cromwell  was  only  a  soldier,  and 
the  state  he  founded  went  down  with  him  into  his 
grave.  I  would  call  him  Washington,  but  the  great 
Virginian  held  slaves.  This  man  risked  his  empire 
rather  than  permit  the  slave  trade  in  the  humblest  vil- 
lage of  his  dominions.  You  think  me  a  fanatic,  for 
you  read  history,  not  with  your  eyes,  but  with  your 
prejudices.  But  fifty  years  hence,  when  Truth  gets  a 
hearing,  the  Muse  of  history  will  put  Phocion  for  the 
Greek,  Brutus  for  the  Roman,  Hampden  for  the  Eng- 
lish, La  Fayette  for  France,  choose  Washington  as  the 
bright  consummate  flower  of  our  earlier  civilization, 
then,  dipping  her  pen  in  the  sunlight,  will  write  in 
the  clear  blue,  above  them  all,  the  name  of  the  soldier, 
the  statesman,  the  martyr,  Toussaint  L'Ouverture." 

The  treacherous  killing  of  Tousaint  did  not  conquer 
Hayti.  In  1802  and  1803  some  forty  thousand  French 
soldiers  died  of  war  and  fever.  A  new  colored  leader, 
Dessalines,  arose  and  all  the  eight  thousand  remain- 
ing French  surrendered  to  the  blockading  British  fleet. 


His  Motto  77 

The  effect  of  all  this  was  far-reaching.  Napoleon 
gave  up  his  dream  of  American  empire  and  sold  Louis- 
iana for  a  song.  'Thus,  all  of  Indian  Territory,  all  of 
Kansas  and  Nebraska  and  Iowa  and  Wyoming  and 
Montana  and  the  Dakotas,  and  most  of  Colorado  and 
Minnesota,  and  all  of  Washington  and  Oregon  states, 
came  to  us  as  the  indirect  work  of  a  despised  Negro. 
Praise,  if  you  will,  the  work  of  a  Robert  Livingstone 
or  a  Jefferson,  but  to-day  let  us  not  forget  our  debt  to 
Toussaint  L'Ouverture,  who  was  indirectly  the  means 
of  Americans  expansion  by  the  Louisiana  Purchase  of 
1803." 


HIS   MOTTO 

LOTTIE   BURRELL  DIXON 

"But  I  can^t  leave  my  business  affairs  and  go  off  on  a 
fishing  trip  now." 

The  friend  and  specialist  who  had  tricked  John 
Durmont  into  a  confession  of  physical  bankruptcy, 
and  made  him  submit  to  an  examination  in  spite  of 
himself,  now  sat  back  with  an  "I  wash  my  hands  of 
you"  gesture. 

"Very  well,  you  can  either  go  to  Maine,  now,  at  once, 
or  you'll  go  to  —  well,  as  I'm  only  your  spiritual  ad- 
viser, my  prognostications  as  to  your  ultimate  destina- 
tion would  probably  have  very  little  weight  with  you." 


78  The  Upward  Path 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  are  so  sure,  I  suppose  I  can  cut  loose 
now,  if  it  comes  to  a  choice  like  that." 

The  doctor  smiled  his  satisfaction.  "So  you  prefer  to 
bear  the  ills  of  New  York  than  to  fly  to  others  you 
know  not  of,  eh?" 

"Oh,  have  a  little  mercy  on  Shakespeare,  at  least, 
ril  go." 

And  thus  it  was  that  a  week  later  found  Durmont 
as  deep  in  the  Maine  woods  as  he  could  get  and  still 
be  within  reach  of  a  telegraph  wire.  And  much  to  his 
surprise  he  found  he  liked  it. 

As  he  lay  stretched  at  full  length  on  the  soft  turf, 
the  breath  of  the  pines  filled  his  lungs,  the  lure  of  the 
lake  made  him  eager  to  get  to  his  fishing  tackle,  and  he 
admitted  to  himself  that  a  man  needed  just  such  a 
holiday  as  this  in  order  to  keep  his  mental  and  physi- 
cal balance. 

Returning  to  the  gaily  painted  frame  building,  called 
by  courtesy  the  "Hotel,"  which  nestled  among  the 
pines,  he  met  the  youthful  operator  from  the  near-by 
station  looking  for  him  with  a  message  from  his  broker. 
A  complicated  situation  had  arisen  in  Amalgamated 
Copper,  and  an  immediate  answer  was  needed.  Dur- 
mont had  heavy  investments  in  copper,  though  his 
business  was  the  manufacture  of  electrical  instruments. 

He  walked  back  to  the  office  with  the  operator  while 
pondering  the  answer,  then  having  written  it,  handed  it 
to  the  operator  saying,  "Tell  them  to  rush  answer." 


His  Motto  79 

The  tall  lank  youth,  whose  every  movement  was  a 
protest  against  being  hurried,  dragged  himself  over  to 
the  telegraph  key. 

"'S  open." 

"What's  open?" 

"Wire." 

"Well,  is  that  the  only  wire  you  have?" 

"Yep." 

"What  in  the  world  am  I  going  to  do  about  this 
message?" 

"Dunno,  maybe  it  will  close  bime-by."  And  the 
young  lightning  slinger  pulled  towards  him  a  lurid 
tale  of  the  Wild  West,  and  proceeded  to  enjoy 
himself. 

"And  meanwhile,  what  do  you  suppose  is  going  to 
happen  to  me?"  thundered  Durmont.  "Haven't  you 
ambition  enough  to  look  around  your  wire  and  see  if 
you  can  find  the  trouble?" 

"Lineman's  paid  to  look  up  trouble;  I'm  not,"  was 
the  surly  answer. 

Durmont  was  furious,  but  what  he  was  about  to  say 
was  cut  off  by  a  quiet  voice  at  his  elbow. 

"I  noticed  linemen  repairing  wires  upon  the  main 
road,  that's  where  this  wire  is  open.  If  you  have  any 
message  you  are  in  a  hurry  to  send,  perhaps  I  can 
help  you  out." 

Durmont  turned  to  see  a  colored  boy  of  fifteen  whose 
entrance  he  had  not  noticed. 


80  The  Upward  Path 

''What  can  you  do  about  it?"  he  asked  contemptu- 
ously, ''take  it  into  town  in  an  ox  team?" 

"I  can  send  it  by  wireless,  if  that  is  sufficiently 
quick." 

Durmont  turned  to  the  operator  at  the  table. 

"Is  there  a  wireless  near  here?" 

"He  owns  one,  you'll  have  to  do  business  with  him 
on  that,"  said  the  youth  with  a  grin  at  Durmont's  un- 
concealed prejudice. 

It  would  be  hard  to  estimate  the  exact  amount  of 
respect,  mingled  with  surprise,  with  which  the  city 
man  now  looked  at  the  boy  whose  information  he  had 
evidently  doubted  till  confirmed  by  the  white  boy. 

"Suppose  you've  got  some  kind  of  tom-fool  contrap- 
tion that  will  take  half  a  day  to  get  a  message  into 
the  next  village.  Here  I  stand  to  lose  several  thousands 
because  this  blame  company  runs  only  one  wire  down 
to  this  camp.  Where  is  this  apparatus  of  yours? 
Might  as  well  look  at  it  while  I'm  waiting  for  this  one- 
wire  office  to  get  into  commission  again." 

"It's  right  up  on  top  of  the  hill,"  answered  the  col- 
ored boy.  "Here,  George,  I  brought  down  this  wire- 
less book  if  you  want  to  look  it  over,  it's  better  worth 
reading  than  that  stuff  you  have  there,"  and  tossing  a 
book  on  the  table  he  went  out,  followed  by  Durmont. 

A  couple  of  minutes'  walk  brought  them  in  sight  of 
the  sixty- foot  aerial  erected  on  the  top  of  a  small  shack. 

"Not  much  to  look  at,  but  I  made  it  all  myself." 


His  Motto 


81 


82  The  UjJWard  Path 

"How  did  you  happen  to  construct  this?'*  And 
Durmont  really  tried  to  keep  the  emphasis  off  the 
"you." 

"Well,  I'm  interested  in  all  kinds  of  electrical  ex- 
periments, and  have  kept  up  reading  and  studying 
ever  since  I  left  school,  then  when  I  came  out  here  on 
my  uncle's  farm,  he  let  me  rig  up  this  wireless,  and  I 
can  talk  to  a  chum  of  mine  down  in  the  city.  And 
when  I  saw  the  wire  at  the  station  was  gone  up,  I 
thought  I  might  possibly  get  your  message  to  New 
York  through  him." 

They  had  entered  the  one-room  shack  which  con- 
tained a  long  table  holding  a  wireless  outfit,  a  couple 
of  chairs  and  a  shelf  of  books.  On  the  walls  were 
tacked  pictures  of  aviators  and  drawings  of  aeroplanes. 
A  three-foot  model  of  a  biplane  hung  in  a  corner. 

"Now  if  he  is  only  in,"  said  the  boy,  going  over  to 
the  table  and  giving  the  call. 

"He's  there,"  he  said  eagerly,  holding  out  his  hand 
for  the  message. 

Durmont  handed  it  to  him.  His  face  still  held  the 
look  of  doubt  and  unbelief  as  he  looked  at  the  crude, 
home-made  instruments. 

"Suppose  I  might  as  well  have  hired  a  horse  and 
taken  it  into  town."  But  the  sputtering  wire  drowned 
his  voice. 

"And  get  on  your  wheel  and  go  like  blazes.  Tell  'em 
to  rush  answer.    This  guy  here  thinks  a  colored  boy 


His  Motto  83 

is  only  an  animated  shoe-blacking  outfit;  it's  up  to  us 
to  remedy  that  defect  in  his  education,  see!"  Thus 
sang  the  wires  as  Durmont  paced  the  floor. 

''I  said/'  began  the  nervous  man  as  the  wires  became 
quiet.  "I  — ''  again  the  wire  sputtered,  and  he  couldn't 
hear  himself  talk.  When  it  was  quiet,  he  tried  again, 
but  as  soon  as  he  began  to  grumble,  the  wire  began  to 
sputter.  He  glanced  suspiciously  at  the  boy,  but  the 
latter  was  earnestly  watching  his  instruments. 

"Say,"  shouted  Durmont,  "does  that  thing  have  to 
keep  up  that  confounded  racket  all  the  time?" 

"I  had  to  give  him  some  instructions,  you  know,  and 
also  keep  in  adjustment." 

"Well,  I'll  get  out  of  adjustment  myself  if  that  keeps 
up." 

Durmont  resigned  himself  to  silence,  and  strangely 
enough,  so  did  the  wire.  Walking  around  the  room  he 
noticed  over  the  shelf  of  books  a  large  white  sheet  on 
which  was  printed  in  gilt  letters: 

"l  WILL  STUDY  AND  MAKE  READY,  AND  MAYBE 
MY  CHANCE  WILL  COME." 

— ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

Durmont  read  this,  and  then  looked  at  the  boy  as  if 
seeing  him  for  the  first  time.  Again  he  looked  at  the 
words,  and  far  beyond  them  he  saw  his  own  struggling 
boyhood,  climbing  daily  Life's  slippery  path,  trying 
to  find  some  hold  by  which  to  pull  himself  up.    And 


84  The  Upward  Path 

as  he  watched  the  brown-skinned  boy  bending  over  the 
instruments,  instinct  told  him  here  was  one  who  would 
find  it  still  harder  to  fight  his  way  up,  because  of 
caste. 
"Ah!'^ 

The  exclamation  startled  him.  The  boy  with  phones 
adjusted  was  busily  writing. 

"Well,  has  that  partner  of  yours  got  that  message 
down  at  his  end  yet?" 
"Yes,  sir,  and  here  is  your  answer  from  New  York." 
"Why  it's  only  been  half  an  hour  since  I  wrote  it," 
said  Durmont. 

"Yes,  that  horse  wouldn't  have  got  into  town  yet," 
grinned  the  boy. 

Durmont  snatched  the  paper,  read  it,  threw  his  cap 
in  the  air,  exclaiming,  "The  day  is  saved.  Boy,  you're 
a  winner.  How  much?"  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket 
suggestively. 

"How  much  you  owe  to  my  help,  I  don't  know," 
answered  the  lad  sagely.  "I  offered  to  help  you  be- 
cause you  needed  it,  and  I  was  glad  of  the  chance  to 
prove  what  I  believed  I  could  do.  I'm  satisfied  be- 
cause I  succeeded." 

Durmont  sat  down  heavily  on  the  other  chair;  his 
nerves  couldn't  stand  much  more  in  one  afternoon. 
To  find  himself  threatened  with  a  large  financial  loss; 
to  have  this  averted  by  the  help  of  the  scientific  knowl- 
edge of  a  colored  boy,  and  that  boy  rating  the  fact  of 


His  Motto  85 

his  success  higher  than  any  pecuniary  compensation  — 
he  had  to  pull  himself  together  a  bit. 

His  eyes  fell  on  the  motto  on  the  wall.  He  read  it 
thoughtfully,  considered  how  hard  the  boy  had  worked 
because  of  that,  his  hopes  of  the  future  based  on  that  ; 
saw  the  hiiman  element  in  him  as  it  had  not  appealed 
to  him  before,  and  then  turning  something  over  in  his 
mind,  muttered  to  himself,  "It's  nobody's  business 
if  I  do." 

He  got  up,  and  walking  over  to  the  boy  said: 
''What's  your  name?" 

"Robert  Hilton." 

"Well,  Robert,  that  motto  you've  got  up  there  is  a 
pretty  good  one  to  tie  to.  You  certainly  have  studied  ; 
you  have  made  yourself  ready  as  far  as  your  resources 
will  permit,  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  don't  stand  for  the 
'chance.'  In  the  manufacturing  of  electrical  instru- 
ments you  could  have  great  opportunity  for  inventive 
talent,  and  in  my  concern  you  shall  have  your  chance, 
and  go  as  far  as  your  efficiency  will  carry  you.  What 
do  you  say,  would  you  care  for  it?" 

"I'd  care  for  it  more  than  any  other  thing  on 
earth,  and  am  very  grateful  for  the  chance." 

"The  chance  wouldn't  be  standing  here  now  if  you 
had  not  had  the  inclination  and  the  determination  to 
live  up  to  those  words  on  the  wall." 


86  The  Upward  Path 

THE   MONTHS 

h.  cordelia  ray 

January 

To  herald  in  another  year, 

With  rhythmic  note  the  snowflakes  fall 
Silently  from  their  crystal  courts, 

To  answer  Winter's  call. 
Wake,  mortal !    Time  is  winged  anew ! 

Call  Love  and  Hope  and  Faith  to  fill 
The  chambers  of  thy  soul  to-day; 

Life  hath  its  blessings  still ! 

February 

The  icicles  upon  the  pane 

Are  busy  architects;  they  leave 
What  temples  and  what  chiseled  forms 

Of  leaf  and  flower!    Then  believe 
That  though  the  woods  be  brown  and  bare, 

And  sunbeams  peep  through  cloudy  veils, 
Though  tempests  howl  through  leaden  skies, 

The  springtime  never  fails! 

March 

Robin !  Robin !  call  the  Springtime ! 
March  is  halting  on  his  way; 


The  Months  8T 

Hear  the  gusts.    What !  snowflakes  falling ! 
Look  not  for  the  grass  to-day. 
Ay,  the  wind  will  frisk  and  play, 
And  we  cannot  say  it  nay. 

April 
She  trips  across  the  meadows, 
The  weird,  capricious  elf! 
The  buds  unfold  their  perfumed  cups 

For  love  of  her  sweet  self; 
And  silver-throated  birds  begin  to  tune  their  lyres. 
While  wind-harps  lend  their  strains  to  Nature's  magic 
choirs. 

May 

Sweet,  winsome  May,  coy,  pensive  fay, 

Comes  garlanded  with  lily-beds, 
And  apple  blooms  shed  incense  through  the  bowV, 

To  be  her  dow'r; 

While  through  the  deafy  dells 

A  wondrous  concert  swells 
To  welcome  May,  the  dainty  fay. 

June 
Roses,  roses,  roses, 
Creamy,  fragrant,  dewy! 

See  the  rainbow  shower! 
Was  there  e'er  so  sweet  a  flower? 


88  The  Upward  Path 

Fm  the  rose-nymph,  June  they  call  me. 
Sunset's  blush  is  not  more  fair 
Than  the  gift  of  bloom  so  rare, 

Mortal,  that  I  bring  to  thee! 

July 
Sunshine  and  shadow  play  amid  the  trees 

In  bosky  groves,  while  from  the  vivid  sky 
The  sun's  gold  arrows  fleck  the  fields  at  noon, 

Where  weary  cattle  to  their  slumber  hie. 
How  sweet  the  music  of  the  purling  rill. 
Trickling  adown  the  grassy  hill! 
While  dreamy  fancies  come  to  give  repose 
When  the  first  star  of  evening  glows. 

August 
Haste  to  the  mighty  ocean. 

List  to  the  lapsing  waves; 
With  what  a  strange  commotion 

They  seek  their  coral  caves. 
From  heat  and  turmoil  let  us  oft  return, 
The  ocean's  solemn  majesty  to  learn. 

September 
With  what  a  gentle  sound 
The  autumn  leaves  drop  to  the  ground; 
The  many-colored  dyes, 
They  greet  our  watching  eyes. 


The  Months  89 

Rosy  and  russet,  how  they  fall ! 
Throwing  o'er  earth  a  leafy  pall. 

October 
The  mellow  moon  hangs  golden  in  the  sky, 

The  vintage  song  is  over,  far  and  nigh 
A  richer  beauty  Nature  weareth  now. 
And  silently,  in  reverence  we  bow 

Before  the  forest  altars,  off'ring  praise 
To  Him  who  sweetness  gives  to  all  our  days. 

November 
The  leaves  are  sere. 
The  woods  are  drear. 
The  breeze  that  erst  so  merrily  did  play, 
Naught  giveth  save  a  melancholy  lay; 
Yet  life's  great  lessons  do  not  fail 
E'en  in  November's  gale. 

December 
List!  list!  the  sleigh  bells  peal  across  the  snow; 
The  frost's  sharp  arrows  touch  the  earth  and  lo! 
How  diamond-bright  the  stars  do  scintillate 
When  Night  hath  lit  her  lamps  to  Heaven's  gate. 
To  the  dim  forest's  cloistered  arches  go. 
And  seek  the  holly  and  the  mistletoe; 
For  soon  the  bells  of  Christmas-tide  will  ring 
To  hail  the  Heavenly  King! 


90  The  Upward  Path 

THE   COLORED   CADET   AT  WEST   POINT 

LIEUT.  HENRY  OSSIAN  FLIPPER,  U.  S.  A. 

May  20th,  1873!  Auspicious  day!  From  the  deck 
of  the  little  ferry-boat  that  steamed  its  way  across 
from  Garrison's  on  that  eventful  afternoon  I  viewed 
the  hills  about  West  Point,  her  stone  structures  perched 
thereon,  thus  rising  still  higher,  as  if  providing  access 
to  the  very  pinnacle  of  fame,  and  shuddered.  With 
my  mind  full  of  the  horrors  of  the  treatment  of  all 
former  cadets  of  color,  and  the  dread  of  inevitable 
ostracism,  I  approached  tremblingly  yet  confidently. 

The  little  vessel  having  been  moored,  I  stepped 
ashore  and  inquired  of  a  soldier  there  where  candi- 
dates should  report.  He  very  kindly  gave  me  all 
information,  wished  me  much  success,  for  which  I 
thanked  him,  and  set  out  for  the  designated  place.  I 
soon  reached  it,  and  walked  directly  into  the  adjutant's 
office.  He  received  me  kindly,  asked  for  my  certificate 
of  appointment,  and  receiving  that  —  or  assurance 
that  I  had  it — ^^I  do  not  remember  which  —  directed 
me  to  write  in  a  book  there  for  the  purpose  the  name 
and  occupation  of  my  father,  the  State,  Congressional 
district,  county  and  city  of  his  residence,  my  own  full 
name,  age,  State,  county,  and  place  of  my  birth,  and 
my  occupation  when  at  home.    This  done  I  was  sent 


The  Colored  Cadet  at  West  Point         91 

in  charge  of  an  orderly  to  cadet  barracks,  where  my 
"plebe  quarters"  were  assigned  me. 

The  impression  made  upon  me  by  what  I  saw  while 
going  from  the  adjutant's  office  to  barracks  was  cer- 
tainly not  very  encouraging.  The  rear  windows  were 
crowded  with  cadets  watching  my  unpretending  pass- 
age of  the  area  of  barracks  with  apparently  as  much 
astonishment  and  interest  as  they  would,  perhaps,  have 
watched  Hannibal  crossing  the  Alps.  Their  words 
and  jeers  were  most  insulting. 

Having  reached  another  office,  I  was  shown  in  by  the 
orderly.  I  walked  in,  hat  in  hand  —  nay,  rather  started 
in  —  when  three  cadets,  who  were  seated  in  the  room, 
simultaneously  sprang  to  their  feet  and  welcomed  me 
somewhat  af t€r  this  fashion : 

*Well,  sir,  what  do  you  mean  by  coming  into  this 
office  in  that  manner,  sir?    Get  out  of  here,  sir." 

I  walked  out,  followed  by  one  of  them,  who,  in  a 
similar  strain,  ordered  me  to  button  my  coat,  get  my 
hands  around  —  "fins"  he  said  —  heels  together,  and 
head  up. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  he,  leaving  me,  "when  you  are  ready 
to  come  in,  knock  at  that  door,"  emphasizing  the  word 
"knock.'' 

The  door  was  open.  I  knocked.  He  replied,  "Come 
in."  I  went  in.  I  took  my  position  in  front  of  and 
facing  him,  my  heels  together,  head  up,  the  palms  of 
my  hands  to  the  front,  and  my  little  fingers  on  the 


92  The  Upward  Path 

seams  of  my  pantaloons,  in  which  position  we  habitu- 
ally carried  them.  After  correcting  my  position  and 
making  it  sufficiently  military  to  suit  himself,  one  of 
them,  in  a  much  milder  tone,  asked  what  I  desired  of 
them.  I  told  him  I  had  been  sent  by  the  adjutant  to 
report  there.  He  arose,  and  directing  me  to  follow  him, 
conducted  me  to  the  bath-rooms.  Having  discharged 
the  necessary  duty  there,  I  returned  and  was  again 
put  in  charge  of  the  orderly,  who  carried  me  to  the 
hospital.  There  I  was  subjected  to  a  rigid  physical 
examination,  which  I  ^^stood"  with  the  greatest  ease. 
I  was  given  a  certificate  of  ability  by  the  surgeon,  and 
by  him  sent  again  to  the  adjutant,  who  in  turn  sent 
me  to  the  treasurer.  From  him  I  returned  alone  to 
barracks. 

The  reception  given  to  "plebes"  upon  reporting  is 
often  very  much  more  severe  than  that  given  me. 
Even  members  of  my  own  class  can  testify  to  this. 
This  reception  has,  however,  I  think,  been  best  de- 
scribed in  an  anonymous  work,  where  it  is  thus  set 
forth: 

"How  dare  you  come  into  the  presence  of  your  su- 
perior officer  in  that  grossly  careless  and  unmilitary 
manner?  I'll  have  you  imprisoned.  Stand,  attention, 
sir!"  (Even  louder  than  before.)  "Heels-together- 
and-on-the-same-line,  toes-equally-turned-out,  little- 
fingers-on-the-seams-of-your-pantaloons,  button-your- 
coat,   draw-in-your-chin,   throw-out-your-chest,   cast- 


The  Colored  Cadet  at  West  Point         93 

your-eyes-fifteen-paces-to-the-front,  don't-let-me-see* 
you-wearing-standing-collars-again.  Stand-steady,  sir. 
You've  evidently  mistaken  your  profession,  sir.  In  any 
other  service,  or  at  the  seat  of  war,  sir,  you  would  have 
been  shot,  sir,  without  trial,  sir,  for  such  conduct,  sir." 

The  effect  of  such  words  can  be  easily  imagined. 
A  "plebe"  will  at  once  recognize  the  necessity  for  abso- 
lute obedience,  even  if  he  does  know  all  this  is  hazing, 
and  that  it  is  doubtless  forbidden.  Still  "plebes" 
almost  invariably  tremble  while  it  lasts,  and  when  in 
their  own  quarters  laugh  over  it,  and  even  practise  it 
upon  each  other  for  mutual  amusement. 

On  the  way  to  barracks  I  met  the  squad  of  "beasts" 
marching  to  dinner.  I  was  ordered  to  fall  in,  did  so, 
marched  to  the  mess  hall,  and  ate  my  first  dinner  at 
West  Point.  After  dinner  we  were  again  marched 
to  barracks  and  dismissed.  I  hastened  to  my  quar- 
ters, and  a  short  while  after  was  turned  out  to  take  pos- 
session of  my  baggage.  I  lugged  it  into  my  room,  was 
shown  the  directions  on  the  back  of  the  door  for 
arrangement  of  articles,  and  ordered  to  obey  them 
within  half  an  hour. 

At  the  end  of  the  time  specified  every  article  was 
arranged  and  the  cadet  corporal  returned  to  inspect. 
He  walked  deliberately  to  the  clothes-press,  and,  in- 
forming me  that  everything  was  arranged  wrong,  threw 
every  article  upon  the  floor,  repeated  his  order  and 
withdrew.    And  thus  three  times  in  less  than  two  hours 


94  The  Upward  Path 

did  I  arrange  and  he  disarrange  my  effects.  I  was 
not  troubled  again  by  him  till  after  supper,  when  he 
inspected  again,  merely  opening  the  door,  however,  and 
looking  in.  He  told  me  I  could  not  go  to  sleep  till 
''tattoo."  Now  tattoo,  as  he  evidently  used  it,  referred 
in  some  manner  to  time,  and  with  such  reference  I 
had  not  the  remotest  idea  of  what  it  meant.  I  had 
no  knowledge  whatever  of  military  terms  or  customs. 
However,  as  I  was  also  told  that  I  could  do  anything  — 
writing,  etc.  —  I  might  wish  to  do,  I  found  sufficient 
to  keep  me  awake  until  he  again  returned  and  told 
me  it  was  then  tattoo,  that  I  could  retire  then  or  at 
any  time  within  half  an  hour,  and  that  at  the  end  of 
that  time  the  light  must  be  extinguished  and  I  must 
be  in  bed.    I  instantly  extinguished  it  and  retired. 

Thus  passed  my  first  half  day  at  West  Point,  and 
thus  began  the  military  career  of  the  fifth  colored 
cadet.  The  other  four  were  Smith  of  South  Carolina, 
Napier  of  Tennessee,  Howard  of  Mississippi,  and  Gibbs 
of  Florida. 


An  Hyjnn  to  the  Evening  95 

AN  HYMN   TO   THE   EVENING 

PHYLLIS  WHEATLEY 

Soon  as  the  sun  forsook  the  eastern  main 

The  pealing  thunder  shook  the  heav'nly  plain; 

Majestic  grandeur!    From  the  zephyr's  wing, 

Exhales  the  incense  of  the  blooming  spring. 

Soft  purl  the  streams,  the  birds  renew  their  notes, 

And  through  the  air  their  mingled  music  floats, 

Through  all  the  heavens  what  beauteous  dyes  are 

spread ! 
But  the  west  glories  in  the  deepest  red; 
So  may  our  breasts  with  every  virtue  glow 
The  living  temples  of  our  God  below! 
Filled  with  the  praise  of  him  who  gave  the  light, 
And  draws  the  sable  curtains  of  the  night, 
Let  placid  slumbers  soothe  each  weary  mind. 
At  morn  to  wake  more  heaven'ly,  more  refin'd. 
So  shall  the  labors  of  the  day  begin 
More  pure,  more  guarded  from  the  snares  of  sin. 
Nights'  leaden  sceptor  seal  my  drowsy  eyes, 
When  cease  my  song,  till  fair  Aurora  rise. 


96  The  Upward  Path 

GOING   TO   SCHOOL   UNDER   DIFFICULTIES 

WILLIAM  H.  HOLTZCLAW 

When  I  was  four  years  old  I  was  put  to  work  on  the 
farm,  —  that  is,  at  such  work  as  I  could  do,  such  as 
riding  a  deaf  and  blind  mule  while  my  brother  held 
the  plow.  When  I  was  six  years  old  my  four-year-old 
brother  and  I  had  to  go  two  miles  through  a  lonely 
forest  every  morning  in  order  to  carry  my  father's 
breakfast  and  dinner  to  a  sawmill,  where  he  was  haul- 
ing logs  for  sixty  cents  a  day.  The  white  man,  Frank 
Weathers,  who  employed  a  large  number  of  hands, 
both  Negroes  and  whites,  was  considered  one  of  the 
best  and  most  upright  men  in  that  section  of  the 
country. 

In  those  days  there  were  no  public  schools  in  that 
part  of  the  country  for  the  Negroes.  Indeed,  public 
schools  for  whites  were  just  beginning  to  be  estab- 
lished. This  man  set  aside  a  little  house  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  sawmill,  employed  a  teacher,  and  urged 
all  the  Negroes  to  send  their  children  to  this  school. 
Not  a  great  many  of  them,  however,  took  advantage  of 
his  generosity,  for  this  was  at  the  time  when  every- 
body seemed  to  think  that  the  Negro's  only  hope  was 
in  politics. 

But  my  father  and  mother  had  great  faith  in  educa- 


Going  to  School  Under  Difficulties        97 

tion,  and  they  were  determined  that  their  children 
should  have  that  blessing  of  which  they  themselves 
had  been  deprived. 

Soon,  however,  Mr.  Weathers  had  cut  all  the  timber 
that  he  could  get  in  that  section,  and  he  therefore 
moved  his  mills  to  another  district.  This  left  us  with- 
out a  school.  But  my  father  was  not  to  be  outdone. 
He  called  a  meeting  of  the  men  in  that  community, 
and  they  agreed  to  build  a  schoolhouse  themselves. 
They  went  to  the  forest  and  cut  pine  poles  about  eight 
inches  in  diameter,  split  them  in  halves,  and  carried 
them  on  their  shoulders  to  a  nice  shady  spot,  and  there 
erected  a  little  schoolhouse.  The  benches  were  made 
of  the  same  material,  and  there  was  no  floor  nor  chim- 
ney. Some  of  the  other  boys'  trousers  suffered  when 
they  sat  on  the  new  pine  benches,  which  exuded  rosin, 
but  I  had  an  advantage  of  them  in  this  respect,  for 
I  wore  only  a  shirt.  In  fact,  I  never  wore  trousers 
until  I  got  to  be  so  large  that  the  white  neighbors 
complained  of  my  insufficient  clothes. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  school  year  there  was  a  trying 
time  in  our  family.  On  this  occasion  the  teacher 
ordered  all  the  pupils  to  appear  dressed  in  white.  We 
had  no  white  clothes,  nor  many  of  any  other  sort,  for 
that  matter.  Father  and  mother  discussed  our  pre- 
dicament nearly  all  one  night.  Father  said  it  was  fool- 
ish to  buy  clothes  which  could  be  used  for  that  occa- 
sion only.    But  my  ever  resourceful  mother  was  still 


98  The  Upward  Path 

determined  that  her  children  should  look  as  well  on 
this  important  occasion  as  any  of  our  neighbors.  How- 
ever, when  we  went  to  bed  the  night  before  the  exhi- 
bition we  still  had  no  white  clothes  and  no  cloth  from 
which  to  make  them.  Nevertheless,  when  we  awoke 
the  next  morning,  all  three  of  us  had  beautiful  white 
suits. 

It  came  about  in  this  way.  My  mother  had  a  beauti- 
ful white  Sunday  petticoat,  which  she  had  cut  up  and 
made  into  suits  for  us.  As  there  is  just  so  much  cloth 
in  a  petticoat  and  no  more,  the  stuff  had  to  be  cut 
close  to  cover  all  of  us  children,  and  as  the  petti- 
coat had  been  worn  several  times  and  was,  therefore, 
likely  to  tear,  we  had  to  be  very  careful  how  we  stooped 
in  moving  about  the  stage,  lest  there  should  be  a  gen- 
eral splitting  and  tearing,  with  consequences  that  we 
were  afraid  to  imagine.  At  the  exhibitions  the  next 
night  we  said  our  little  pieces,  and  I  suppose  we  looked 
about  as  well  as  the  others;  at  least  we  thought  so, 
and  that  was  sufficient.  One  thing  I  am  sure  of, — 
there  was  no  mother  there  who  was  prouder  of  her  chil- 
dren than  ours.  The  thing  that  made  her  so  pleased 
was  the  fact  that  my  speech  made  such  an  impression 
that  our  white  landlord  lifted  me  off  the  stage  when  I 
had  finished  speaking  and  gave  me  a  quarter  of  a 
dollar. 

If  there  happened  to  be  a  school  in  the  winter  time,  I 
had  sometimes  to  go  bare-footed  and  always  with 


Going  to  School  Under  Difficulties        99 

scant  clothing.  Our  landlady  was  very  kind  in  such 
cases.  She  would  give  me  clothes  that  had  already 
been  worn  by  her  sons,  and  in  turn  I  would  bring 


■'-'.^^^N 


broom  straw  from  the  sedges,  with  which  she  made 
her  brooms.  In  this  way  I  usually  got  enough  clothes 
to  keep  me  warm. 

So,  with  my  mother^s  encouragement,  I  went  to 
school  in  spite  of  my  bare  feet.  Often  the  ground 
would  be  frozen,  and  often  there  would  be  snow.  My 
feet  would  crack  and  bleed  freely,  but  when  I  reached 
home  Mother  would  have  a  tub  full  of  hot  water  ready 
to  plunge  me  into  and  thaw  me  out.  Although  this 
caused  my  feet  and  legs  to  swell,  it  usually  got  me  into 
shape  for  school  the  next  day. 


100  The  Upward  Path 

I  remember  once,  when  I  had  helped  '^lay  by"  the 
crops  at  home  and  was  ready  to  enter  the  little  one- 
month  school,  it  was  decided  that  I  could  not  go,  be- 
cause I  had  no  hat.  My  mother  told  me  that  if  I  could 
catch  a  'coon  and  cure  the  skin,  she  would  make  me  a 
cap  out  of  that  material.  That  night  I  went  far  into 
the  forest  with  my  hounds,  and  finally  located  a  'coon. 
The  'coon  was  a  mighty  fighter,  and  when  he  had 
driven  off  all  my  dogs  I  saw  that  the  only  chance  for 
me  to  get  a  cap  was  to  whip  the  'coon  myself,  so  to- 
gether with  the  dogs  I  went  at  him,  and  finally  we 
conquered  him.  The  next  week  I  went  to  school 
wearing  my  new  'coon-skin  cap. 

Exertions  of  this  kind,  from  time  to  time,  strength- 
ened my  will  and  my  body,  and  prepared  me  for  more 
trying  tests  which  were  to  come  later. 

As  I  grew  older  it  became  more  and  more  difficult 
for  me  to  go  to  school.  When  cotton  first  began  to 
open,  —  early  in  the  fall,  —  it  brought  a  higher  price 
than  at  any  other  time  of  the  year.  At  this  time  the 
landlord  wanted  us  all  to  stop  school  and  pick  cot- 
ton. But  Mother  wanted  me  to  remain  in  school,  so, 
when  the  landlord  came  to  the  quarters  early  in  the 
morning  to  stir  up  the  cotton  pickers,  she  used  to  out- 
general him  by  hiding  me  behind  the  skillets,  ovens, 
and  pots,  throwing  some  old  rags  over  me  until  he  was 
gone.  Then  she  would  slip  me  off  to  school  through  the 
back  way.    I  can  see  her  now  with  her  hands  upon  my 


The  Brave  Son  101 

shoulder,  shoving  me  along  through  the  woods  and 
underbrush,  in  a  roundabout  way,  keeping  me  all  the 
time  out  of  sight  of  the  great  plantation  until  we 
reached  the  point,  a  mile  away  from  home,  where  we 
came  to  the  public  road.  There  my  mother  would 
bid  me  good-bye,  whereupon  she  would  return  to  the 
plantation  and  try  to  make  up  to  the  landlord  for  the 
work  of  us  both  in  the  field  as  cotton  pickers. 


THE   BRAVE   SON 

ALSTON    W.    BURLEIGH 

A  little  boy,  lost  in  his  childish  play, 

Mid  the  deep'ning  shades  of  the  fading  day, 

Fancied  the  warrior  he  would  be; 

He  scattered  his  foes  with  his  wooden  sword 

And  put  to  flight  a  mighty  horde  — 

Ere  he  crept  to  his  daddy's  knee. 

A  soldier  crawled  o^er  the  death-strewn  plain, 
And  he  uttered  the  name  of  his  love,  in  vain, 
As  he  stumbled  over  the  crest; 
He  fought  with  the  fierceness  of  dark  despair 
And  drove  the  cowering  foe  to  his  lair  — 
Ere  he  crept  to  his  Father's  breast. 


102  The  Upward  Path 


VICTORY 

WALTER  F.   WHITE 

"Now,  Ted,  just  forget  they're  after  you  and  remem- 
ber you've  got  ten  men  out  there  with  you.  Fight  'em 
and  fight  'em  hard,  but  hold  that  man-eating  temper 
of  yours.    If  you  don't,  we're  lost." 

Dawson,  varsity  coach  of  Bliss  University,  affec- 
tionately known  and  revered  by  two  thousand  under- 
graduates as  "Skipper  Bill"  sat  in  the  locker  room  with 
his  arm  around  Ted  Robertson's  shoulders,  star  half- 
back and  punter  of  the  varsity  eleven.  Around  them 
moved  the  other  varsity  players,  substitutes,  second 
string  men,  trainers  and  rubbers. 

In  the  stands  overhead  every  seat  was  taken,  for 
these  were  the  last  few  minutes  before  the  big  game  of 
the  year  —  the  annual  battle  with  Sloan  College.  On 
one  side  the  sober  blues  and  grays  and  blacks  formed  a 
background  for  huge  yellow  chrysanthemums  and  light 
blue  ribbons,  the  Bliss  colors,  and  the  same  background 
in  the  stands  opposite  set  off  the  crimson  of  Sloan 
College. 

The  rival  college  bands  of  the  two  most  important 
colored  universities  of  the  United  States  blared  almost 
unheeded  in  the  din,  while  agile  cheerleaders  clad  in 
white  from  head  to  foot  performed  gymnastics  in  lead- 


Victory  103 

ing  rolling  volumes  of  cheers.  All  were  in  that  tense, 
nerve-gripping  mood  prior  to  that  game  in  which  vic- 
tory or  defeat  meant  success  or  failure  of  the  season's 
efforts  of  the  teams  of  young  giants  that  represented 
the  two  schools. 

In  the  locker  room,  however,  a  different  scene  was 
being  enacted.  Every  man  was  acting  according  to 
his  own  temperament  and  each  in  his  own  way  at- 
tempted to  hide  the  anxious  thrill  that  every  real  foot- 
ball player  feels  before  "the  big  game." 

Jimmy  Murray,  quarterback  and  thrower  of  forward 
passes  par  excellence,  nervously  tied  and  untied  his 
shoe  laces  a  dozen  times;  "Tiny''  Marshall,  left 
tackle,  who  weighed  two  hundred  and  ten  pounds,  tried 
to  whistle  nonchalantly  and  failed  miserably,  while 
"Bull"  Bascom,  fullback,  the  only  calm  man  in  the 
room,  was  carefully  adjusting  his  shoulder  pads. 
Around  them  hovered  the  odor  of  arnica  and  liniment 
mixed  with  the  familiar  tang  of  perspiration  which  has 
dried  in  woolen  jerseys  —  perspiration  that  marked 
many  a  long  and  wearisome  hour  of  training  and  per- 
fection of  the  machine  that  to-day  received  its  final 


"exam." 


Ted  Robertson,  the  man  around  whom  most  of  the 
team's  offense  was  built,  sat  listening  to  Dawson's 
advice.  Born  with  a  fiery,  almost  unmanageable  tem- 
per, his  reckless,  dauntless  spirit  had  made  him  a  terror 
to  opposing  teams.    Strong  was  the  line  that  could 


104  The  Upward  Path 

check  his  plunges,  and  fleet  were  the  ends  who  could 
tackle  him  when  once  he  got  loose  in  an  open  field. 
Recognizing  his  phenomenal  ability,  both  coach  and 
players  gave  him  the  credit  due  him  and  consciously 
or  unconsciously  relied  on  him  as  the  team's  best 
player. 

But  to-day  Sloan  had  declared  that  they  were  going 
to  put  Robertson  out  of  the  game  and  threats  had  been 
freely  uttered  that  before  the  game  had  been  going 
very  long  he  "would  be  in  the  hospital."  This  news 
added  to  the  tenseness  of  feeling.  If  Robertson  should 
be  put  out  of  the  game,  or  if  he  should  lose  his  temper 
the  chances  of  a  victory  for  Bliss  were  slim  indeed,  for 
rarely  had  two  teams  been  so  evenly  matched  in  skill 
and  brain  and  brawn.  Thus  the  final  pleading  of  Daw- 
son to  Robertson  to  "hold  that  temper." 

A  roar  of  cheers  greeted  their  ears  as  the  red  jer- 
seyed  Sloan  team  took  the  field.  Led  by  Murray  the 
Bliss  players  were  likewise  greeted  by  a  storm  of  ap- 
plause as  they  trotted  out  on  the  field  and  the  varsity 
started  through  a  brisk  signal  drill. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  referee  called  the  rival  cap- 
tains to  the  center  of  the  field.  Sloan  won  the  toss  and 
elected  to  defend  the  south  goal,  kicking  off  with  the 
wind  behind  its  back.  A  breathless  hush  —  the  shrill 
whistle  of  the  referee  —  the  thump  of  cleated  shoe 
against  the  ball  and  the  game  was  on. 

The  teams,  wonderfully  even  in  strength  and  in 


Victory  105 

knowledge  of  the  game,  surged  back  and  forth,  the  ball 
repeatedly  changing  hands  as  one  team  would  hold 
the  other  for  downs.  From  the  kick-off,  the  Sloan 
players  began  their  attempts  to  injure  or  anger  Rob- 
ertson. Vicious  remarks  were  aimed  at  him  while  the 
referee  was  not  near  enough  to  hear. 

When  Robertson  carried  the  ball  and  after  he  was 
downed  under  a  mass  of  players,  a  fist  would  thud 
against  his  jaw  or  hard  knuckles  would  be  rubbed 
across  his  nose.  Once  when  an  opposing  player  had 
fallen  across  Robertson's  right  leg,  another  of  his  oppo- 
nents seized  his  ankle  and  turned  it.  Though  he  fought 
against  it,  his  temper  was  slowly  but  surely  slipping 
away  from  him. 

For  three  hectic  quarters,  with  the  tide  of  victory 
or  defeat  now  surging  towards  Bliss  —  now  towards 
Sloan,  the  battle  raged.  As  play  after  play  of  brilliance 
or  superbrilliance  flashed  forth,  the  stands  alternately 
groaned  or  cheered,  according  to  the  sympathies  of 
each.  Robertson,  a  veritable  stonewall  of  defense,  time 
and  again  checked  the  rushes  of  the  Sloan  backs  or 
threw  himself  recklessly  at  fleet  backs  on  end  runs 
when  his  own  ends  had  failed  to  "get  their  man."  On 
the  offensive  he  repeatedly  was  called  on  to  carry  the 
ball  and  seldom  did  he  fail  to  make  the  distance  re- 
quired. 

A  great  weariness  settled  on  Robertson  and  it  was 
with  difiiculty  that  he  was  able  to  fight  off  a  numbness 


106  TJie  Upward  Path 

and  dizziness  that  almost  overcame  him.  One  thing 
sustained  him.  It  was  a  bitter  resentment  against 
those  who  sought  to  hurt  him.  The  fires  within  him 
had  grown  until  they  became  a  flaming,  devastating 
thing  that  burned  its  way  into  his  brain.  It  needed 
only  a  spark  to  make  him  forget  the  game,  school,  the 
coach  and  everything  else.  Yet  even  as  he  realized 
this  he  knew  that  if  he  did  lose  his  temper.  Bliss  might 
as  well  concede  the  victory  to  Sloan.  It  was  not  con- 
ceit that  caused  him  to  know  this  and  admit  it  but 
the  clearness  of  vision  that  comes  oft-times  in  a  mo- 
ment of  greatest  mental  strain. 

Finally,  with  the  score  still  tied,  neither  side  having 
scored,  the  time  keeper  warned  the  rival  teams  that 
only  three  minutes  remained  for  play.  His  warning 
served  to  cause  a  tightening  of  muscles  and  a  grimness 
of  countenance  in  a  last  final  effort  to  put  over  a  score 
and  avert  a  tied  score.  The  huge  crowd  prayed  fervently 
for  a  score  —  a  touchdown  —  a  safety  —  a  goal  from 
field  or  placement  —  anything. 

It  was  Sloan's  ball  on  Bliss's  forty-five-yard  line. 
Only  a  fumble  or  some  fluke  could  cause  a  score.  Every 
player  was  on  his  mettle  burning  with  anxiety  to  get 
his  hands  on  that  ball  and  scamper  down  the  field  to  a 
touchdown  and  everlasting  fame  in  the  annals  of  his 
school's  football  history. 

In  a  last  desperate  effort,  the  Bliss  quarterback  called 
a  trick  play.     It  started  out  like  a  quarterback  run 


Victory  107 

around  left  end.  The  Bliss  left  end  ran  straight  down 
the  field  after  delaying  the  man  playing  opposite  him. 
When  the  Bliss  quarter  had  made  a  wide  run  drawing 
in  the  Sloan  secondary  defense,  he  turned  and  like  a 
flash  shot  a  long  forward  pass  over  the  heads  of  the 
incoming  Sloan  backfield  to  the  end  who  had  gone 
straight  down  the  field  and  who  was  practically  free 
of  danger  of  being  tackled  by  any  of  the  Sloan  backs. 

Too  late  the  Sloan  players  saw  the  ruse.  Only  Rob- 
ertson was  between  the  swift  running  end  and  a  score. 
With  grim  satisfaction,  his  face  streaked  with  perspira- 
tion, drawn  and  weary  with  the  long  hard  struggle  and 
the  yeoman  part  he  had  played  in  it,  Robertson  saw 
that  the  man  with  the  ball  was  the  one  player  on  the 
opposing  side  who  had  done  most  of  the  unfair  play- 
ing in  trying  to  put  Robertson  out  of  the  game.  All 
of  the  bitterness  —  all  of  the  anger  in  his  heart  swelled 
up  and  he  determined  to  overtake  the  end,  prevent 
the  score  and  tackle  the  man  so  viciously  that  he  would 
be  certain  to  break  an  arm  or  a  leg.  Robertson  dug 
his  cleats  in  the  spongy  turf  with  a  phenomenal  burst 
of  speed,  rapidly  overtook  his  man,  driving  him  mean- 
while towards  the  sidelines. 

At  last  the  moment  came.  By  making  a  flying 
tackle,  which  would  be  illegal  but  which  he  hoped  the 
referee  would  not  see,  Robertson  could  get  his  man 
and  get  him  in  such  fashion  that  he  would  have  no 
chance  of  escaping  injury.    Robertson  crouched  for  the 


108  The  Upward  Path 

spring.  A  fierce  light  came  into  his  eyes.  In  a  flash 
he  saw  the  end  whom  he  now  hated  with  an  intensity 
that  wiped  every  thought  from  his  mind  except  that  of 
revenge,  lying  prone  on  the  ground. 

But  even  as  he  gloated  over  his  revenge,  the  words 
of  Bill  Dawson  came  to  him,  ^'Hold  that  man-eating 
temper  of  yours."  In  a  lightning-like  conflict,  the 
impulse  to  injure  fought  a  desperate  battle  with  the 
instinct  of  clean  playing.  His  decision  was  made  in  a 
moment.  Instead  of  making  the  vicious  flying  tackle, 
he  ran  all  the  faster,  but  the  end  was  too  swift  and 
had  too  great  a  lead.  Amid  the  frantically  jubilant 
shouts  of  the  Bliss  rooters  and  the  painful  silence  of  the 
Sloan  supporters  the  end  went  across  the  line  for  a 
touchdown  just  as  time  was  up. 

A  gloom  pervaded  the  dressing  rooms  of  the  Sloan 
team  after  the  game.  Robertson  was  in  disgrace. 
Forgotten  was  the  playing  through  most  of  the  game. 
Forgotten  were  his  desperate  tackles  that  had  saved 
the  game  more  than  once.  Forgotten  were  the  long 
runs  and  the  hard  line  plunges  that  time  and  again 
had  made  first  downs  for  his  team.  Only  the  fact  that 
he  had  apparently  failed  in  the  last  minute  remained. 
Only  Dawson  and  Robertson  knew  that  it  was  not 
cowardice,  that  most  detested  of  all  things  in  athletics, 
in  life  itself,  had  caused  Robertson  to  refuse  to  make 
that  last  dangerous,  illegal  flying  tackle. 

But  in  the  heart  of  Robertson  there  was  a  strange 


The  Dog  and  the  Clever  Rabbit         109 

peace.  Being  human,  he  naturally  resented  the  dis- 
cernible thoughts  in  the  minds  of  his  comrades  of  many 
a  hard-fought  battle.  But  a  calmness  made  him  for- 
getful of  all  this  for  he  knew  that  at  last,  in  a  moment 
of  the  supreme  test,  he  had  conquered  that  which  had 
been  his  master  throughout  all  of  his  life  —  his  temper. 
All  the  slurs  and  coldness  in  the  world  could  not  rob 
him  of  the  satisfaction  of  this. 


THE  DOG  AND  THE  CLEVER  RABBIT 

A.   0.   STAFFORD 

There  were  many  days  when  the  animals  did  not 
think  about  the  kingship.  They  thought  of  their 
games  and  their  tricks,  and  would  play  them  from  the 
rising  to  the  setting  of  the  sun. 

Now,  at  that  time,  the  little  rabbit  was  known  as  a 
very  clever  fellow.  His  tricks,  his  schemes,  and  his 
funny  little  ways  caused  much  mischief  and  at  times 
much  anger  among  his  woodland  cousins. 

At  last  the  wolf  made  up  his  mind  to  catch  him  and 
give  him  a  severe  punishment  for  the  many  tricks  he 
had  played  upon  him. 

Knowing  that  the  rabbit  could  run  faster  than  he,  the 
wolf  called  at  the  home  of  the  dog  to  seek  his  aid. 
"Brother  dog,  frisky  little  rabbit  must  be  caught  and 


110  The  Upward  Path 

punished.  For  a  nice  bone  will  you  help  me?"  asked 
the  wolf. 

"Certainly,  my  good  friend,"  answered  the  dog, 
thinking  of  the  promised  bone. 

"Be  very  careful,  the  rabbit  is  very  clever,"  said  the 
wolf  as  he  left. 

A  day  or  so  later  while  passing  through  the  woods 
the  dog  saw  the  rabbit  frisking  in  the  tall  grass.  Quick 
as  a  flash  the  dog  started  after  him.  The  little  fellow 
ran  and,  to  save  himself,  jumped  into  the  hollow  of 
an  oak  tree.  The  opening  was  too  small  for  the  other 
to  follow  and  as  he  looked  in  he  heard  only  the  merry 
laugh  of  the  frisky  rabbit,  "Hee,  hee!  hello,  Mr.  Dog, 
you  can't  see  me." 

"Never  mind,  boy,  I  will  get  you  yet,"  barked  the 
angry  dog. 

A  short  distance  from  the  tree  a  goose  was  seen  mov- 
ing around  looking  for  her  dinner. 

"Come,  friend  goose,  watch  the  hollow  of  this  tree 
while  I  go  and  get  some  moss  and  fire  to  smoke  out 
this  scamp  of  a  rabbit,"  spoke  the  dog,  remembering 
the  advice  of  the  wolf. 

"Of  course  111  watch,  for  he  has  played  many  of  his 
schemes  upon  me,"  returned  the  bird. 

When  the  dog  left,  the  rabbit  called  out  from  his 
hiding  place,  "How  can  you  watch,  friend  goose,  when 
you  can't  see  me?" 

"Well,  I  will  see  you  then,"  she  replied.    With  these 


The  Dog  and  the  Clever  Babbit         111 

words  she  pushed  her  long  neck  mto  the  hollow  of  the 
tree.  As  the  neck  of  the  goose  went  into  the  opening 
the  rabbit  threw  the  dust  of  some  dry  wood  into  her 
eyes. 

"Oh,  oh,  you  little  scamp,  you  have  made  me  blind," 
cried  out  the  bird  in  pain. 


Then  while  the  goose  was  trying  to  get  the  dust 
from  her  eyes  the  rabbit  jumped  out  and  scampered 
away. 

In  a  short  while  the  dog  returned  with  the  moss  and 
fire,  filled  the  opening,  and,  as  he  watched  the  smoke 
arise,  barked  with  glee,  "Now  I  have  you,  my  tricky 
friend,  now  I  have  you."  But  as  no  rabbit  ran  out 
the  dog  turned  to  the  goose  and  saw  from  her  red, 
streaming  eyes  that  something  was  wrong. 


112  The  Upward  Path 

"Where  is  the  rabbit,  friend  goose ?'^  he  quickly 
asked. 

"Why,  he  threw  wood  dust  into  my  eyes  when  I 
peeped  into  the  opening."  At  once  the  dog  knew 
that  the  rabbit  had  escaped  and  became  very  angry. 

"You  silly  goose,  you  foolish  bird  with  web  feet,  I 
will  kill  you  now  for  such  folly."  With  these  words 
the  dog  sprang  for  the  goose,  but  only  a  small  feather 
was  caught  in  his  mouth  as  the  frightened  bird  rose 
high  in  the  air  and  flew  away. 


THE   BOY   AND   THE   IDEAL 

JOSEPH    S.    COTTER 

Once  upon  a  time  a  Mule,  a  Hog,  a  Snake,  and  a  Boy 
met.  Said  the  Mule:  "I  eat  and  labor  that  I  may 
grow  strong  in  the  heels.  It  is  fine  to  have  heels  so 
gifted.    My  heels  make  people  cultivate  distance." 

Said  the  Hog:  "I  eat  and  labor  that  I  may  grow 
strong  in  the  snout.  It  is  fine  to  have  a  fine  snout. 
I  keep  people  watching  for  my  snout." 

"No  exchanging  heels  for  snouts,"  broke  in  the  Mule. 

"No,"  answered  the  Hog;  "snouts  are  naturally 
above  heels." 

Said  the  Snake:  "I  eat  to  live,  and  live  to  cultivate 


The  Boy  and  the  Ideal  113 

my  sting.  The  way  people  shun  me  shows  my  great- 
ness. Beget  stings,  comrades,  and  stings  will  beget 
glory." 

Said  the  Boy :  "There  is  a  star  in  my  life  like  unto 
a  star  in  the  sky.  I  eat  and  labor  that  I  may  think 
aright  and  feel  aright.  These  rounds  will  conduct  me 
to  my  star.    Oh,  inviting  star ! " 

"I  am  not  so  certain  of  that,"  said  the  Mule.  "I 
have  noticed  your  kind  and  ever  see  some  of  myself  in 
them.    Your  star  is  in  the  distance." 

The  Boy  answered  by  smelling  a  flower  and  listening 
to  the  song  of  a  bird.  The  Mule  looked  at  him  and 
said :  "He  is  all  tenderness  and  care.  The  true  and  the 
beautiful  have  robbed  me  of  a  kinsman.  His  star  is 
near." 

Said  the  Boy:  "I  approach  my  star." 

"I  am  not  so  certain  of  that,"  interrupted  the  Hog. 
"I  have  noticed  your  kind  and  I  ever  see  some  of  my- 
self in  them.    Your  star  is  a  delusion." 

The  Boy  answered  by  painting  the  flower  and  set- 
ting the  notes  of  the  bird's  song  to  music. 

The  Hog  looked  at  the  boy  and  said:  "His  soul  is 
attuned  by  nature.    The  meddler  in  him  is  slain." 

"I  can  all  but  touch  my  star,"  cried  the  Boy. 

"I  am  not  so  certain  of  that,"  remarked  the  Snake. 
"I  have  watched  your  kind  and  ever  see  some  of  my- 
self in  them.    Stings  are  nearer  than  stars." 

The  Boy  answered  by  meditating  upon  the  picture 


114  The  Upward  Path 

and  music.    The  Snake  departed,  saying  that  stings 
and  stars  cannot  keep  company. 

The  Boy  journeyed  on,  ever  led  by  the  star.  Some 
distance  away  the  Mule  was  bemoaning  the  presence 
of  his  heels  and  trying  to  rid  himself  of  them  by  kick- 
ing a  tree.  The  Hog  was  dividing  his  time  between 
looking  into  a  brook  and  rubbing  his  snout  on  a  rock 
to  shorten  it.  The  Snake  lay  dead  of  its  own  bite.  The 
Boy  journeyed  on,  led  by  an  ever  inviting  star. 


CHILDREN   AT   EASTER 

C.    EMILY    FRAZIER 

That  day  in  old  Jerusalem  when  Christ  our  Lord  was 

slain, 
I  wonder  if  the  children  hid  and  wept  in  grief  and 

pain; 
Dear  little  ones,  on  whose  fair  brows  His  tender  touch 

had  been. 
Whose  infant  forms  had  nestled  close  His  loving  arms 

within. 

I  think  that  very  soberly  went  mournful  little  feet 
When  Christ  our  Lord  was  laid  away  in  Joseph ^s  garden 
sweet, 


Children  at  Easter 


115 


116  The  Upward  Path 

And  wistful  eyes  grew  very  sad  and  dimpled  cheeks 

grew  white, 
When  He  who  suffered  babes  to  come  was  prisoned 

from  the  light. 

With  beaming  looks  and  eager  words  a  glad  surprise 

He  gave 
To  those  who*  sought  their  buried  Lord  and  found  an 

empty  grave; 
For  truly  Christ  had  conquered  death,  Himself  the 

Prince  of  Life, 
And  none  of  all  His  Followers  shall  fail  in  any  strife. 

0  little  ones,  around  the  cross  your  Easter  garlands 

twine, 
And  bring  your  precious  Easter  gifts  to  man^  a  sacred 

shrine. 
And,  better  still,  let  offerings  of  pure  young  hearts  be 

given 
On  Easter  Day  to  Him  who  reigns  the  King  of  earth 

and  heaven. 


Abraham  Lincoln  117 

ABRAHAM   LINCOLN 

WILLIAM   PICKENS 

He  was  the  first  President  of  the  Republic  who  was 
American  through  and  through.  There  was  not  one 
foreign  element  in  his  bringing  up;  he  was  an  un- 
mixed child  of  the  Western  plains,  born  in  the  South, 
reared  in  the  North.  Most  of  the  Presidents  before 
him,  being  reared  nearer  the  Atlantic,  had  imbibed 
more  or  less  of  Eastern  culture  and  had  European  airs. 
This  man  Lincoln  was  so  thoroughly  democratic  as 
to  astonish  both  Old  and  New  England.  He  never 
acted  "the  President,"  and  was  always  a  man  among 
men,  the  honored  servant  of  the  people. 

From  a  five-dollar  fee  before  a  justice  of  the  peace, 
he  had  risen  to  a  five-thousand-dollar  fee  before  the 
Supreme  Court  of  Illinois.  From  a  study  of  "Dilworth's 
Spelling  Book"  in  his  seventh  year,  he  had  risen  to 
write,  in  his  fifty-seventh  year,  his  second  Inaugural, 
which  is  the  greatest  utterance  of  man,  and  yet  all  of 
his  days  in  school  added  together  are  less  than  one  year. 
His  pioneer  life  had  given  him  a  vein  of  humor  which 
became  his  "Life-preserver"  in  times  of  stress;  it  had 
also  given  him  a  love  for  human  liberty  that  was  un- 
affected. He  felt  that  the  enslavement  of  some  men 
was  but  the  advance  guard,  the  miner  and  sapper,  of 
the  enslavement  of  all  men. 


118  The  Upward  Path 

From  a  poor  captain  of  volunteers  in  the  scandalous 
little  Black  Hawk  War,  where  he  jokingly  said  he 
"bled,  died,  and  came  away,"  although  he  never  had  a 
skirmish  nor  saw  an  Indian,  he  had  risen  to  the  chief 
command  in  a  war  that  numbered  three  thousand 
battles  and  skirmishes  and  cost  three  billion  dollars. 
Having  no  ancestry  himself,  being  able  to  trace  his  line 
by  rumor  and  tradition  only  as  far  back  as  his  grand- 
father, he  became,  like  George  Washington,  the  Father 
of  his  Country.  Born  of  a  father  who  could  not  write 
his  name,  he  himself  had  written  the  Proclamation  of 
Emancipation,  the  fourth  great  state  paper  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  —  the  others  being  Mag- 
na Charta,  the  Declaration  of  Independence  and  the 
Constitution.  If  we  accept  the  statement  of  Cicero  that 
the  days  on  which  we  are  saved  should  be  as  illustrious 
as  the  days  on  which  we  are  born,  then  Lincoln  the 
Savior  must  always  remain  coordinate  with  Washing- 
ton, the  Father  of  his  country.  Jackson  was  "Old  Hick- 
ory," Taylor  was  "Old  Rough,"  and  there  have  been  va- 
rious names  given  to  the  other  Presidents,  but  Wash- 
ington and  Lincoln  were  the  only  ones  whom  the 
American  people  styled  "Father." 

Child  of  the  American  soil,  cradled  and  nursed  in  the 
very  bosom  of  nature,  he  loved  his  country  with  the 
passion  with  which  most  men  love  their  human 
mothers.  He  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  one  iota  of 
detraction  from  her  honor,  her  dignity  or  her  welfare. 


Abraham  Lincoln  119 

Against  her  dismemberment  he  was  willing  to  fight  to 
the  end  of  his  second  administration  or  till  the  end  of 
time.  He  might  tolerate  anything  else  except  dis- 
union, —  even  the  right  of  some  of  his  fellowmen  to 
enslave  others.  Of  every  concession  which  he  made 
during  his  administration,  to  friend  or  foe,  the  sine 
qua  non  was  Union.  A  house  divided  against  itself 
cannot  stand. 

In  this  he  left  us  a  great  heritage ;  it  is  a  lesson  for 
both  sections,  and  all  races  of  any  section.  White  men 
of  America,  black  men  of  America,  by  the  eternal  God 
of  heaven,  there  can  be  no  division  of  destiny  on  the 
same  soil  and  in  the  bosom  and  in  the  lap  of  the  same 
natural  mother.  Men  may  attempt  and  accomplish 
discrimination  in  a  small  way,  but  Almighty  God  and 
all-mothering  nature  are  absolutely  impartial.  They 
have  woven  the  fabric  of  life  so  that  the  thread  of  each 
man's  existence  is  a  part  of  the  whole.  He  who  sets 
fire  to  his  neighbor's  house,  endangers  the  existence  of 
his  own ;  he  who  degrades  his  neighbor's  children,  un- 
dermines the  future  of  his  own.  Together  we  rise  and 
together  we  fall  is  the  plan  of  God  and  the  rule  of 
nature.  We  must  lean  together  in  the  common  struggle 
of  life:  the  syncline  is  stronger  than  the  anticline. 

In  a  great  nation  with  an  increasing  fame,  the  lesson 
of  Lincoln's  life  must  grow  in  importance.  As  long  as 
the  human  heart  loves  freedom  his  name  will  be  a 
word  on  the  tongues  of  men.  His  name  will  be  a  watch- 


120  The  Upward  Path 

word  wherever  liberty  in  her  struggles  with  tyranny- 
lifts  her  embattled  banners.  No  man  of  the  ancient  or 
the  modern  world  has  a  securer  place  in  the  hearts  and 
memories  of  men  than  this  man  Lincoln,  who  was  born 
in  obscurity,  who  died  in  a  halo,  and  who  now  rests  in 
an  aureole  of  historic  glory. 


RONDEAU 

JESSIE  FAUSET 

When  April's  here  and  meadows  wide 
Once  more  with  spring's  sweet  growths  are  pied, 
I  close  each  book,  drop  each  pursuit. 
And  past  the  brook,  no  longer  mute, 
I  joyous  roam  the  countryside. 

Look,  here  the  violets  shy  abide 
And  there  the  mating  robins  hide  — 
How  keen  my  senses,  how  acute, 
When  April's  here! 

And  list !  down  where  the  shimmering  tide 

Hard  by  that  farthest  hill  doth  glide. 

Rise  faint  sweet  strains  from  shepherd's  flute, 

Pan's  pipes  and  Berecynthian  lute. 
Each  sight,  each  sound  fresh  joys  provide 
When  April's  here. 


How  I  Escaped  121 


HOW   I   ESCAPED 

FREDERICK    DOUGLASS 

Although  slavery  was  a  delicate  subject,  and  very 
cautiously  talked  about  among  grown-up  people  in 
Maryland,  I  frequently  talked  about  it,  and  that  very 
freely,  with  the  white  boys.  I  would  sometimes  say  to 
them,  while  seated  on  a  curbstone  or  a  cellar  door,  "I 
wish  I  could  be  free,  as  you  will  be  when  you  get  to  be 
men.  You  will  be  free,  you  know,  as  soon  as  you  are 
twenty-one,  and  can  go  where  you  like,  but  I  am  a 
slave  for  life.  Have  I  not  as  good  a  right  to  be  free  as 
you  have?" 

Words  like  these,  I  observed,  always  troubled  them ; 
and  I  had  no  small  satisfaction  in  drawing  out  from 
them,  as  I  occasionally  did,  that  fresh  and  bitter  con- 
demnation of  slavery  which  ever  springs  from  natures 
unseared  and  unperverted.  Of  all  consciences,  let  me 
have  those  to  deal  with,  which  have  not  been  seared 
and  bewildered  with  the  cares  and  perplexities  of  life. 

I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  met  with  a  boy  while 
I  was  in  slavery,  who  defended  the  system,  but  I  do 
remember  many  times,  when  I  was  consoled  by  them, 
and  by  them  encouraged  to  hope  that  something  would 
yet  occur  by  which  I  would  be  made  free.  Over  and 
over  again,  they  have  told  me  that  "they  believed  I 


122  The  Upward  Path 

had  as  good  a  right  to  be  free  as  they  had,"  and  that 
"they  did  not  beheve  God  ever  made  any  one  to  be  a 
slave." 

On  Monday,  the  third  day  of  September,  1838,  in 
accordance  with  my  resolution,  I  bade  farewell  to  the 
city  of  Baltimore,  and  to  slavery. 

My  success  was  due  to  address  rather  than  courage; 
to  good  luck  rather  than  bravery.  My  means  of  escape 
were  provided  for  me  by  the  very  men  who  were  mak- 
ing laws  to  hold  and  bind  me  more  securely  in  slavery. 
It  was  the  custom  in  the  State  of  Maryland  to  require 
of  the  free  colored  people  to  have  what  were  called  free 
papers.  This  instrument  they  were  required  to  renew 
very  often,  and  by  charging  a  fee  for  this  writing,  con- 
siderable sums  from  time  to  time  were  collected  by  the 
State.  In  these  papers  the  name,  age,  color,  height, 
and  form  of  the  free  man  were  described,  together  with 
any  scars  or  other  marks  upon  his  person. 

Now  more  than  one  man  could  be  found  to  answer 
the  same  general  description.  Hence  many  slaves 
could  escape  by  impersonating  the  owner  of  one  set  of 
papers;  and  this  was  often  done  as  follows:  A  slave 
nearly  or  sufficiently  answering  the  description  set 
forth  in  the  papers,  would  borrow  or  hire  them  till  he 
could  by  their  means  escape  to  a  free  state,  and  then, 
by  mail  or  otherwise,  return  them  to  the  owner.  The 
operation  was  a  hazardous  one  for  the  lender  as  well 
as  the  borrower. 


How  I  Escaped  123 

A  failure  on  the  part  of  the  fugitive  to  send  back  the 
papers  would  imperil  his  benefactor,  and  the  discovery 
of  the  papers  in  possession  of  the  wrong  man  would 
imperil  both  the  fugitive  and  his  friend.  It  was  there- 
fore an  act  of  supreme  trust  on  the  part  of  a  freeman  of 
color  thus  to  put  in  jeopardy  his  own  liberty  that  an- 
other might  be  free.  It  was,  however,  not  infre- 
quently bravely  done,  and  was  seldom  discovered.  I 
was  not  so  fortunate  as  to  sufficiently  resemble  any  of 
my  free  acquaintances  to  answer  the  description  of 
their  papers. 

But  I  had  one  friend  —  a  sailor  —  who  owned  a 
sailor's  protection,  which  answered  somewhat  the  pur- 
pose of  free  papers  —  describing  his  person,  and  certi- 
fying to  the  fact  that  he  was  a  free  American  sailor. 
The  instrument  had  at  its  head  the  American  eagle, 
which  gave  it  the  appearance  at  once  of  an  authorized 
document.  This  protection  did  not,  when  in  my  hands, 
describe  its  bearer  very  accurately.  Indeed,  it  called 
for  a  man  much  darker  than  myself,  and  close  examina- 
tion of  it  would  have  caused  my  arrest  at  the  start. 

In  order  to  avoid  this  fatal  scrutiny  I  had  arranged 
with  a  hackman  to  bring  my  baggage  to  the  train  just 
on  the  moment  of  starting,  and  jumped  upon  the  car 
myself  when  the  train  was  already  in  motion.  Had  I 
gone  into  the  station  and  offered  to  purchase  a  ticket, 
I  should  have  been  instantly  and  carefully  examined, 
and  undoubtedly  arrested. 


124  The  Upward  Path 

In  choosing  this  plan  upon  which  to  act,  I  considered 
the  jostle  of  the  train,  and  the  natural  haste  of  the 
conductor,  in  a  train  crowded  with  passengers,  and  re- 
lied upon  my  skill  and  address  in  playing  the  sailor  as 
described  in  my  protection,  to  do  the  rest.  One  ele- 
ment in  my  favor  was  the  kind  feeling  which  prevailed 
in  Baltimore,  and  other  seaports  at  the  time,  towards 
"those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships."  'Tree  trade 
and  sailors^  rights"  expressed  the  sentiment  of  the 
country  just  then. 

In  my  clothing  I  was  rigged  out  in  sailor  style.  I 
had  on  a  red  shirt  and  a  tarpaulin  hat  and  black  cravat, 
tied  in  sailor  fashion,  carelessly  and  loosely  about  my 
neck.  My  knowledge  of  ships  and  sailor's  talk  came 
much  to  my  assistance,  for  I  knew  a  ship  from  stem  to 
stern,  and  from  keelson  to  cross-trees,  and  could  talk 
sailor  like  an  "old  salt." 

On  sped  the  train,  and  I  was  well  on  the  way  to 
Havre  de  Grace  before  the  conductor  came  into  the 
Negro  car  to  collect  tickets  and  examine  the  papers  of 
his  black  passengers.  This  was  a  critical  moment  in 
the  drama.  My  whole  future  depended  upon  the  de- 
cision of  this  conductor.  Agitated  I  was  while  this 
ceremony  was  proceeding,  but  still  externally,  at  least, 
I  was  apparently  calm  and  self-possessed.  He  went  on 
with  his  duty  —  examining  several  colored  passengers 
before  reaching  me.  He  was  somewhat  harsh  in  tone, 
and  peremptory  in  manner  until  he  reached  me,  when, 


Ho*w  I  Escaped  125 

strangely  enough,  and  to  my  surprise  and  relief,  his 
whole  manner  changed. 

Seeing  that  I  did  not  readily  produce  my  free  papers, 
as  the  other  colored  persons  in  the  car  had  done,  he 
said  to  me  in  a  friendly  contrast  with  that  observed 
towards  the  others:  ''I  suppose  you  have  your  free 
papers?"  To  which  I  answered:  "No,  sir;  I  never  carry 
my  free  papers  to  sea  with  me."  "But  you  have  some- 
thing to  show  that  you  are  a  free  man,  have  you  not?" 
"Yes,  sir,"  I  answered;  "I  have  a  paper  with  the 
American  eagle  on  it,  that  will  carry  me  around  the 
world."  With  this  I  drew  from  my  deep  sailor's  pocket 
my  seaman's  protection,  as  before  described.  The 
merest  glance  at  the  paper  satisfied  him,  and  he  took 
my  fare  and  went  on  about  his  business. 

This  moment  of  time  was  one  of  the  most  anxious  I 
ever  experienced.  Had  the  conductor  looked  closely  at 
the  paper,  he  could  not  have  failed  to  discover  that  it 
called  for  a  very  different  looking  person  from  myself, 
and  in  that  case  it  would  have  been  his  duty  to  arrest 
me  on  the  instant,  and  send  me  back  to  Baltimore  from 
the  first  station. 

When  he  left  me  with,  the  assurance  that  I  was  all 
right,  though  much  relieved,  I  realized  that  I  was  still 
in  great  danger:  I  was  still  in  Maryland,  and  subject 
to  arrest  at  any  moment.  I  saw  on  the  train  several 
persons  who  would  have  known  me  in  any  other 
clothes,  and  I  feared  they  might  recognize  me,  even  in 


126  The  Upward  Path 

my  sailor  "rig,"  and  report  me  to  the  conductor,  who 
would  then  subject  me  to  a  closer  examination,  which 
I  knew  well  would  be  fatal  to  me. 

Though  I  was  not  a  murderer  fleeing  from  justice,  I 
felt,  perhaps,  quite  miserable  as  such  a  criminal. 
The  train  was  moving  at  a  very  high  rate  of  speed  for 
that  time  of  railroad  travel,  but  to  my  anxious  mind, 
it  was  moving  far  too  slowly.  Minutes  were  hours, 
and  hours  were  days  during  this  part  of  my  flight. 
After  Maryland  I  was  to  pass  through  Delaware  — 
another  slave  State.  The  border  lines  between  slavery 
and  freedom  were  the  dangerous  ones,  for  the  fugitives. 
The  heart  of  no  fox  or  deer,  with  hungry  hounds  on  his 
trail,  in  full  chase,  could  have  beaten  more  anxiously  or 
noisily  than  did  mine,  from  the  time  I  left  Baltimore 
till  I  reached  Philadelphia. 

The  passage  of  the  Susquehanna  river  at  Havre  de 
Grace  was  made  by  ferry-boat  at  that  time,  on  board 
of  which  I  met  a  young  colored  man  by  the  name  of 
Nichols,  who  came  very  near  betraying  me.  He  was  a 
"hand"  on  the  boat,  but  instead  of  minding  his  busi- 
ness, he  insisted  upon  knowing  me,  and  asking  me 
dangerous  questions  as  to  where  I  was  going,  and  when 
I  was  coming  back,  etc.  I  got  away  from  my  old  and 
inconvenient  acquaintance  as  soon  as  I  could  decently 
do  so,  and  went  to  another  part  of  the  boat. 

Once  across  the  river  I  encountered  a  new  danger. 
Only  a  few  days  before  I  had  been  at  work  on  a  revenue 


How  I  Escaped  127 

cutter,  in  Mr.  Price's  ship-yard,  under  the  care  of  Cap- 
tain McGowan.  On  the  meeting  at  this  point  of  the 
two  trains,  the  one  going  south  stopped  on  the  track 
just  opposite  to  the  one  going  north,  and  it  so  happened 
that  this  Captain  McGowan  sat  at  a  window  where  he 
could  see  me  very  distinctly,  and  would  certainly  have 
recognized  me  had  he  looked  at  me  but  for  a  second. 
Fortunately,  in  the  hurry  of  the  moment,  he  did  not 
see  me ;  and  the  trains  soon  passed  each  other  on  their 
respective  ways. 

But  this  was  not  the  only  hair-breadth  escape.  A 
German  blacksmith,  whom  I  knew  well,  was  on  the 
train  with  me,  and  looked  at  me  very  intently,  as  if  he 
thought  he  had  seen  me  somewhere  before  in  his 
travels.  I  really  believe  he  knew  me,  but  had  no  heart 
to  betray  me.  At  any  rate  he  saw  me  escaping  and 
held  his  peace. 

The  last  point  of  imminent  danger,  and  the  one  I 
dreaded  most,  was  Wilmington.  Here  we  left  the  train 
and  took  the  steamboat  for  Philadelphia.  In  making 
the  change  here  I  again  apprehended  arrest,  but  no  one 
disturbed  me,  and  I  was  soon  on  the  broad  and  beauti- 
ful Delaware,  speeding  away  to  the  Quaker  City.  On 
reaching  Philadelphia  in  the  afternoon  I  inquired  of  a 
colored  man  how  I  could  get  on  to  New  York?  He 
directed  me  to  the  Willow  street  depot,  and  thither  I 
went,  taking  the  train  that  night.  I  reached  New  York 
Tuesday  morning,  having  completed  the  journey  in  less 


128  The  Upward  Path 

than  twenty-four  hours.  Such  is  briefly  the  manner  of 
my  escape  from  slavery  —  and  the  end  of  my  experi- 
ence as  a  slave. 


FREDERICK   DOUGLASS 

W.    H.    CROGMAN 

Frederick  Douglass  is  dead!  How  strange  that 
sounds  to  those  of  us  who  from  earliest  boyhood  have 
been  accustomed  to  hear  him  spoken  of  as  the  living 
exponent  of  all  that  is  noblest  and  best  in  the  race. 
The  mind  reluctantly  accepts  the  unwelcome  truth. 
And  yet  it  is  a  truth  —  a  serious,  a  solemn  truth. 
Frederick  Douglass  is  no  more.  The  grand  old  hero  of 
a  thousand  battles  has  at  last  fallen  before  the  shaft  of 
the  common  destroyer,  and  upon  his  well-battered 
shield  loving  hands  have  tenderly  borne  that  stalwart 
form  to  its  last,  long  resting  place.  Earth  to  earth, 
dust  to  dust,  ashes  to  ashes! 

This  country  will  never  again  see  another  Douglass ; 
this  world  will  never  again  see  another  Douglass,  for 
in  all  probability  there  will  never  again  exist  that 
peculiar  combination  of  circumstances  to  produce 
exactly  such  a  type  of  manhood.  Man  is,  in  a  measure, 
the  product  of  environment.  Yet  it  would  be  injustice 
to  Frederick  Douglass  to  say  that  he  was  great  simply 
because  of  environment.    He  was  great  in  spite  of  en- 


Frederick  Douglass  129 

vironment.  Born  a  slave,  subjected  in  his  youth  and 
early  manhood  to  all  the  degrading,  stultifying,  de- 
moralizing influences  of  slavery,  he  has  left  behind 
him,  after  a  pubUc  life  long  and  varied  and  stormy,  a 
name  as  clean  and  spotless  as  driven  snow.  Take  notice 
of  this,  young  men,  you  who  have  ambitions,  you  who 
are  aspiring  to  public  place,  position,  and  power.  Take 
notice  that  a  public  life  need  not  be  separated  from 
unsullied  honor. 

I  said  Frederick  Douglass  was  great  in  spite  of  en- 
vironment. Had  there  been  no  slavery  to  fight,  no 
freedom  to  win,  he  would  still  have  been  a  great  man. 
Greatness  was  inherent  in  his  being,  and  circumstances 
simply  evoked  it.  He  was  one  of  those  choice  spirits 
whom  the  Almighty  sends  into  this  world  with  the 
stamp  of  a  great  mission  on  their  very  form  and  fea- 
tures. Said  Sam  Johnson  with  reference  to  Edmund 
Burke :  ''Burke,  sir,  is  such  a  man  that  if  you  met  him 
for  the  first  time  in  the  street,  where  you  were  stopped 
by  a  drove  of  oxen,  and  you  and  he  stepped  aside  to 
take  shelter  but  for  five  minutes,  he'd  talk  to  you  in 
such  a  manner  that  when  you  parted  you  would  say, 
This  is  an  extraordinary  man.'  " 

The  same  could  doubtless  have  been  said  of  Doug- 
lass; but  it  was  not  necessary  to  hear  him  talk,  to  dis- 
cover his  unusual  ability  and  surpassing  intelligence. 
There  was  in  his  very  presence  something  that  in- 
stantly indicated  these.    An  eminent  divine  said  some 


130  The  Upward  Path 

years  ago  that  Douglass's  escape  from  slavery  was  a 
very  fortunate  thing  for  the  South,  as  in  any  uprising 
of  slaves  he  must  have  proved  a  very  formidable  leader. 
"He  had,"  said  he,  "the  mind  to  plan,  the  heart  to  dare, 
and  the  hand  to  execute,"  and  added,  "If  you  were  to 
see  him  sitting  in  Exeter  Hall  in  the  midst  of  a  sea  of 
faces,  you  would  instantly  recognize  in  him  a  man  of 
extraordinary  force  of  character." 

Such  was  the  impression  that  Douglass  commonly 
made  on  people,  and  such  was  the  impression  he  made 
on  me  at  my  first  sight  of  him.  It  was  in  Faneuil  Hall, 
in  the  summer  of  1872.  The  colored  people  of  New 
England  were  assembled  in  political  convention.  En- 
tering the  hall  in  the  midst  of  one  of  their  morning 
sessions,  the  first  object  that  met  my  eyes  was  the  old 
hero  himself  on  the  rostrum.  There  he  stood,  over  six 
feet  in  height,  erect,  broad-shouldered,  deep-chested, 
with  massive,  well-formed  head,  covered  with  thick, 
bushy  hair,  about  half  gray.  I  judged  him  then  to  be 
midway  in  his  fifties.  His  face,  strongly  leonine,  was 
clean  shaven,  except  moustache,  while  those  eyes,  that 
even  in  the  seventies  could  flash  fire,  lighted  up  the 
whole  countenance,  and  made  the  general  effect  such  as 
not  to  be  easily  forgotten  by  a  young  man.  There  stood 
the  orator  and  the  man,  and  never  since  have  I  seen 
the  two  in  such  exquisite  combination.  The  old  Greek 
sculptor  would  have  delighted  to  immortalize  such  a 
form  in  marble. 


Frederick  Douglass  131 

Whispering  to  a  tall  white  brother  beside  me  (the 
audience  was  half  white)  I  asked:  "Who,  sir,  is  that 
man  speaking?"  "That  man?  That  man  is  Frederick 
Douglass."  Then  looking  down  upon  me  with  an  ex- 
pression of  mingled  pity  and  surprise  in  his  face,  he 
said:  "Why,  don't  you  know  Fred  Douglass?"  I  need 
not  say  that  that  question  brought  to  my  mind  feelings, 
of  pride  not  altogether  unmixed  with  humiliation. 

As  the  old  orator  swept  on,  however,  in  his  own  in- 
imitable style,  sprinkling  his  remarks  with  genuine 
original  wit  I  forgot  everything  else  around  me.  His 
voice,  a  heavy  barytone,  or  rendered  a  little  heavier 
than  usual  by  a  slight  hoarseness  contracted  in 
previous  speaking,  could  be  distinctly  heard  in  that 
historic  but  most  wretched  of  auditoriums.  I  was  par- 
ticularly struck  with  his  perfect  ease  and  naturalness, 
a  seemingly  childlike  unconsciousness  of  his  surround- 
ings, while,  like  a  master  of  his  art,  as  he  was,  he 
swayed  the  feelings  of  that  surging  multitude.  In  the 
most  impassioned  portions  of  his  speech,  however,  it 
was  evident  to  the  thoughtful  observer  that  there  was 
in  the  man  immense  reserved  force  which  on  momen- 
tous occasions  might  be  used  with  startling  effect. 

At  first  I  had  entered  the  hall  to  remain  but  a  few 
minutes,  and,  consequently,  had  taken  my  stand  just 
inside  the  door.  How  long  I  did  remain  I  cannot  tell, 
but  it  was  until  the  speaker  finished,  at  which  time  I 
found  myself  half  way  up  towards  the  rostrum  in  the 


132  The  Upward  Path 

midst  of  that  thickly  standing  audience.  Such  was  my 
first  sight  and  impression  of  one  of  the  world's  great 
orators,  and  beyond  comparison  the  greatest  man  of 
the  race  yet  produced  on  this  continent. 

His  splendid  physique,  so  often  admired,  was  well  in 
keeping  with  the  strength  and  grasp  of  his  masterly 
mind.  Without  the  privilege  of  a  day's  instruction  in 
the  schoolroom,  he  acquired  a  fund  of  useful  knowledge 
that  would  put  to  shame  the  meager  attainments  of 
many  a  college  graduate.  His  speeches  and  writing  are 
models  of  a  pure  English  style,  and  are  characterized 
by  simplicity,  clearness,  directness,  force,  and  elegance. 

Many  of  the  interesting  facts  and  incidents  in  the 
life  of  this  great  man  are  already  well  known  —  his 
escape  from  slavery,  his  arrival  in  the  North,  his  early 
marriage,  his  settling  down  to  work  at  his  trade  in 
New  Bedford,  his  first  speech  in  an  anti-slavery  con- 
vention, that  drew  attention  to  his  wonderful  powers 
of  oratory,  and  led  to  his  employment  by  the  Anti- 
slavery  Bureau  to  lecture  through  the  North  on  the 
most  unpopular  question  that  up  to  that  time  had  been 
presented  to  the  American  people,  his  rise  as  an  orator, 
his  trip  to  England  and  its  magical  effects  on  the  Eng- 
lish people,  his  return  to  this  country,  and  the  purchase 
of  his  freedom,  to  relieve  him  of  the  apprehension  of 
being  seized  and  taken  back  into  slavery,  his  editor- 
ship of  the  North  Star,  his  services  to  the  government 
during  the  war  in  the  raising  of  troops,  his  securing  of 


Frederick  Douglass  133 

pay  for  the  black  soldiers  equal  to  that  of  the  whites, 
the  editorship  immediately  after  the  war  of  the  New 
National  Era,  his  popularity  as  a  lyceum  lecturer,  his 
mission  to  San  Domingo  under  Grant,  his  marshal- 
ship  of  the  District  of  Columbia  under  Hayes,  his  min- 
istry to  Santo  Domingo.  These  are  some  of  the  ex- 
periences which  came  into  that  eventful  life. 

If  I  were  asked  to  sum  up  in  a  word  what  made 
Frederick  Douglass  great,  I  should  say  a  noble  purpose, 
fixed  and  unchangeable,  a  purpose  to  render  to  man- 
kind the  largest  possible  service.  Verily  he  has  served 
us  well,  faithfully,  unselfishly,  and  now,  full  of  years 
and  full  of  honors,  loaded  with  such  distinctions  as  this 
poor  world  has  to  give,  he  dies,  dies  as  he  lived,  a  brave, 
strong,  good  man.  No  more  shall  we  behold  that  manly 
form.  No  more  shall  we  listen  to  those  eloquent  lips 
upon  which  for  over  fifty  years  so  many  thousands 
have  hung  with  rapture,  those  eloquent  lips  that  made 
his  name  famous  in  two  hemispheres,  and  will  surely 
keep  it  so  long  as  freedom  has  a  history.  God  grant 
that  the  mantle  of  this  old  hero  may  fall  upon  a  worthy 
successor!  God  grant  that  our  young  men,  contem- 
plating his  life  and  emulating  his  example,  may  be 
lifted  up  to  a  higher  conception  of  life,  of  duty,  of 
responsibility,  of  usefulness! 


134  The  Upward  Path 


INCIDENT   IN   THE   LIFE   OF 
FREDERICK   DOUGLASS 

Long  after  the  Civil  War,  Mr.  Douglass  once  told 
the  following  story  of  his  life  to  the  pupils  of  a  colored 
school  in  Talbot  County,  Maryland,  the  county  in 
which  he  was  born : 

"I  once  knew  a  little  colored  boy  whose  father  and 
mother  died  when  he  was  six  years  old.  He  was  a  slave 
and  had  no  one  to  care  for  him.  He  slept  on  a  dirt 
floor  in  a  hovel  and  in  cold  weather  would  crawl  into  a 
meal  bag,  headforemost,  and  leave  his  feet  in  the  ashes 
to  keep  them  warm.  Often  he  would  roast  an  ear  of 
corn  and  eat  it  to  satisfy  his  hunger,  and  many  times 
has  he  crawled  under  the  barn  or  stable  and  secured 
eggs,  which  he  would  roast  in  the  fire  and  eat. 

"This  boy  did  not  wear  pants  as  you  do,  only  a  tow 
linen  shirt.  Schools  were  unknown  to  him,  and  he 
learned  to  spell  from  an  old  Webster's  spelling  book, 
and  to  read  and  write  from  posters  on  cellars  and  barn 
doors,  while  boys  and  men  would  help  him.  He  would 
then  preach  and  speak,  and  soon  became  well  known. 
He  finally  held  several  high  positions  and  accumulated 
some  wealth.  He  wore  broadcloth  and  did  not  have  to 
divide  crumbs  with  the  dogs  under  the  table.  That 
boy  was  Frederick  Douglass. 


Animal  Life  in  the  Congo  135 

"What  was  possible  for  me  is  possible  for  you.  Do 
not  think  because  you  are  colored  you  can  not  accom- 
plish anything.  Strive  earnestly  to  add  to  your  knowl- 
edge. So  long  as  you  remain  in  ignorance,  so  long  will 
you  fail  to  command  the  respect  of  your  fellow  men." 


ANIMAL   LIFE   IN   THE   CONGO 

WILLIAM    HENRY    SHEPPARD 

At  daybreak  Monday  morning  we  had  iSnished  our 
breakfast  by  candle  light  and  with  staff  in  hand  we 
marched  northeast  for  Lukunga. 

In  two  days  we  sighted  the  Mission  Compound. 
Word  had  reached  the  missionaries  (A.B.M.U.)  that 
foreigners  were  approaching,  and  they  came  out  to 
meet  and  greet  us.  We  were  soon  hurried  into  their 
cool  and  comfortable  mud  houses.  Our  faithful  cook 
was  dismissed,  for  we  were  to  take  our  meals  with  the 
missionaries. 

Mr.  Hoste,  who  is  at  the  head  of  this  station,  came 
into  our  room  and  mentioned  that  the  numerous 
spiders,  half  the  size  of  your  hand,  on  the  walls  were 
harmless.  "But,"  said  he,  as  he  raised  his  hand  and 
pointed  to  a  hole  over  the  door,  "there  is  a  nest  of 
scorpions;  you  must  be  careful  in  moving  in  or  out, 
for  they  will  spring  upon  you." 


136  The  Upward  Path 

Well,  you  ought  to  have  seen  us  dodging  in  and  out 
that  door.  After  supper,  not  discrediting  the  veracity 
of  the  gentleman,  we  set  to  work,  and  for  an  hour  we 
spoiled  the  walls  by  smashing  spiders  with  slippers. 

The  next  morning  the  mission  station  was  excited 
over  the  loss  of  their  only  donkey.  The  donkey  had 
been  feeding  in  the  field  and  a  boa-constrictor  had 
captured  him,  squeezed  him  into  pulp,  dragged  him  a 
hundred  yards  down  to  the  river  bank,  and  was  pre- 
paring to  swallow  him.  The  missionaries,  all  with 
guns,  took  aim  and  fired,  killing  the  twenty-five-foot 
boa-constrictor.  The  boa  was  turned  over  to  the  na- 
tives and  they  had  a  great  feast.  The  missionaries  told 
us  many  tales  about  how  the  boa-constrictor  would 
come  by  night  and  steal  away  their  goats,  hogs,  and 
dogs. 

The  sand  around  Lukunga  is  a  hot-bed  for  miniature 
fleas,  or  "jiggers."  The  second  day  of  our  stay  at  Lu- 
kunga our  feet  had  swollen  and  itched  terribly,  and  on 
examination  we  found  that  these  "jiggers'^  had  entered 
under  our  toe  nails  and  had  grown  to  the  size  of  a  pea. 
A  native  was  called  and  with  a  small  sharpened  stick 
they  were  cut  out.  We  saw  natives  with  toes  and 
fingers  eaten  entirely  ofP  by  these  pests.  Mr.  Hoste 
told  us  to  keep  our  toes  well  greased  with  palm  oil. 
We  followed  his  instructions,  but  grease  with  sand  and 
sun  made  our  socks  rather  "heavy." 

The  native  church  here  is  very  strong  spiritually. 


Animal  Life  in  the  Congo  137 

The  church  bell,  a  real  big  brass  bell,  begms  to  ring  at 
8  A.  M.  and  continues  for  an  hour.  The  natives  in  the 
neighborhood  come  teeming  by  every  trail,  take  their 
seats  quietly,  and  listen  attentively  to  the  preaching  of 
God's  word.  No  excitement,  no  shouting,  but  an  intel- 
ligent interest  shown  by  looking  and  listening  from 
start  to  finish. 

In  the  evening  you  can  hear  from  every  quarter  our 
hymns  sung  by  the  natives  in  their  own  language. 
They  are  having  their  family  devotions  before  retiring. 

Our  second  day's  march  brought  us  to  a  large  river. 
Our  loads  and  men  were  ferried  over  in  canoes.  Mr. 
Lapsley  and  I  decided  to  swim  it,  and  so  we  jumped  in 
and  struck  out  for  the  opposite  shore.  On  landing  we 
were  told  by  a  native  watchman  that  we  had  done  a 
very  daring  thing.  He  explained  with  much  excite- 
ment and  many  gestures  that  the  river  was  filled  with 
crocodiles,  and  that  he  did  not  expect  to  see  us  land 
alive  on  his  side.  We  camped  on  the  top  of  the  hill 
overlooking  N'Kissy  and  the  wild  rushing  Congo 
Rapids.  It  was  in  one  of  these  whirlpools  that  young 
Pocock,  Stanley's  last  survivor,  perished. 

In  the  "Pool"  we  saw  many  hippopotami,  and  longed 
to  go  out  in  a  canoe  and  shoot  one,  but  being  warned  of 
the  danger  from  the  hippopotami  and  also  of  the 
treacherous  current  of  the  Congo  River,  which  might 
take  us  over  the  rapids  and  to  death,  we  were  afraid  to 
venture.    A  native  Bateke  fisherman,  just  a  few  days 


138  The  Upward  Path 

before  our  arrival,  had  been  crushed  in  his  canoe  by  a 
bull-hippopotamus.  Many  stories  of  hippopotami 
horrors  were  told  us. 

One  day  Chief  N'Galiama  with  his  attendant  came 
to  the  mission  and  told  Dr.  Simms  that  the  people  in 
the  village  were  very  hungry  and  to  see  if  it  were  pos- 
sible for  him  to  get  some  meat  to  eat. 

Dr.  Simms  called  me  and  explained  how  the  people 
were  on  the  verge  of  a  famine  and  if  I  could  kill  them 
a  hippopotamus  it  would  help  greatly.  He  continued 
to  explain  that  the  meat  and  hide  would  be  dried  by 
the  people  and,  using  but  a  little  at  each  meal,  would 
last  them  a  long  time.  Dr.  Simms  mentioned  that  he 
had  never  hunted,  but  he  knew  where  the  game  was. 
He  said,  "I  will  give  you  a  native  guide,  you  go  with 
him  around  the  first  cataract  about  two  miles  from 
here  and  you  will  find  the  hippopotami."  I  was  de- 
lighted at  the  idea,  and  being  anxious  to  use  my  "Mar- 
tini Henry"  rifle  and  to  help  the  hungry  people,  I 
consented  to  go.  In  an  hour  and  a  half  we  had  walked 
around  the  rapids,  across  the  big  boulders,  and  right 
before  us  were  at  least  a  dozen  big  hippopotami.  Some 
were  frightened,  ducked  their  heads  and  made  off; 
others  showed  signs  of  fight  and  defiance. 

At  about  fifty  yards  distant  I  raised  my  rifle  and  let 
fly  at  one  of  the  exposed  heads.  My  guide  told  me 
that  the  hippopotamus  was  shot  and  killed.  In  a  few 
minutes  another  head  appeared  above  the  surface  of 


Animal  Life  in  the  Congo  139 

the  water  and  again  taking  aim  I  fired  with  the  same 
result.  The  guide,  who  was  a  subject  of  the  Chief 
N'Galiama,  sprang  upon  a  big  boulder  and  cried  to  me 
to  look  at  the  big  bubbles  which  were  appearing  on  the 
water;  then  explained  in  detail  that  the  hippopotami 
had  drowned  and  would  rise  to  the  top  of  the  water 
within  an  hour. 

The  guide  asked  to  go  to  a  fishing  camp  nearby  and 
call  some  men  to  secure  the  hippopotami  when  they 
rose,  or  else  they  would  go  out  with  the  current  and 
over  the  rapids.  In  a  very  short  time  about  fifty  men, 
bringing  native  rope  with  them,  were  on  the  scene  and 
truly,  as  the  guide  had  said,  up  came  the  first  hippo- 
potamus, his  big  back  showing  first.  A  number  of  the 
men  were  off  swimming  with  the  long  rope  which  was 
tied  to  the  hippopotamus^  foot.  A  signal  was  given 
and  every  man  did  his  best.  No  sooner  had  we  secured 
the  one  near  shore  than  there  was  a  wild  shout  to  untie 
and  hasten  for  the  other.  These  two  were  securely  tied 
by  their  feet  and  big  boulders  were  rolled  on  the  rope 
to  keep  them  from  drifting  out  into  the  current. 

The  short  tails  of  both  of  them  were  cut  off  and  we 
started  home.  We  reported  to  Dr.  Simms  that  we  had 
about  four  or  five  tons  of  meat  down  on  the  river  bank. 
The  native  town  ran  wild  with  delight.  Many  natives 
came  to  examine  my  gun  which  had  sent  the  big  bullets 
crashing  through  the  brain  of  the  hippopotami.  Early 
the  next  morning  N'Galiama  sent  his  son  Nzelie  with 


140  The  Upward  Path 

a  long  caravan  of  men  to  complete  the  work.  They 
leaped  upon  the  backs  of  the  hippopotami,  wrestled 
with  each  other  for  a  while,  and  then  with  knives  and 
axes  fell  to  work.  The  missionaries  enjoyed  a  hippo- 
potamus steak  that  day  also. 

Before  the  chickens  began  to  crow  for  dawn  I  was 
alarmed  by  a  band  of  big,  broad-headed,  determined 
driver  ants.  They  filled  the  cabin,  the  bed,  the  yard. 
There  were  millions.  They  were  in  my  head,  my  eyes, 
my  nose,  and  pulling  at  my  toes.  When  I  found  it  was 
not  a  dream,  I  didn't  tarry  long. 

Some  of  our  native  boys  came  with  torches  of  fire  to 
my  rescue.  They  are  the  largest  and  the  most  ferocious 
ant  we  know  anything  about.  In  an  incredibly  short 
space  of  time  they  can  kill  any  goat,  chicken,  duck, 
hog  or  dog  on  the  place.  In  a  few  hours  there  is  not  a 
rat,  mouse,  snake,  centipede,  spider,  or  scorpion  in  your 
house,  as  they  are  chased,  killed  and  carried  away.  We 
built  a  fire  and  slept  inside  of  the  circle  until  day. 

We  scraped  the  acquaintance  of  these  soldier  ants 
by  being  severely  bitten  and  stung.  They  are  near  the 
size  of  a  wasp  and  use  both  ends  with  splendid  effect. 
They  live  deep  down  in  the  ground  and  come  out  of  a 
smoothly  cut  hole,  following  each  other  single  file,  and 
when  they  reach  a  damp  spot  in  the  forest  and  hear  the 
white  ants  cutting  away  on  the  fallen  leaves,  the  leader 
stops  until  all  the  soldiers  have  caught  up.  A  circle 
is  formed,  a  peculiar  hissing  is  the  order  to  raid,  and 


Animal  Life  in  the  Congo  141 

down  under  the  leaves  they  dart,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
they  come  out  with  their  pinchers  filled  with  white 
ants.  The  line,  without  the  least  excitement,  is  again 
formed  and  they  march  back  home  stepping  high  with 
their  prey. 

The  small  White  Ants  have  a  blue  head  and  a  white, 
soft  body  and  are  everywhere  in  the  ground  and  on  the 
surface.    They  live  by  eating  dead  wood  and  leaves. 

We  got  rid  of  the  driver  ants  by  keeping  up  a  big  fire 
in  their  cave  for  a  week.  We  dug  up  the  homes  of  the 
big  black  ants  and  they  moved  off.  But  there  was  no 
way  possible  to  rid  the  place  of  the  billions  of  white 
ants.  They  ate  our  dry  goods  boxes,  our  books,  our 
trunks,  our  beds,  shoes,  hats  and  clothing.  The  natives 
make  holes  in  the  ground,  entrapping  the  ants,  and  use 
them  for  food. 

The  dogs  look  like  ordinary  curs,  with  but  little  hair 
on  them,  and  they  never  bark  or  bite.  I  asked  the 
people  to  explain  why  their  dogs  didn't  bark.  So  they 
told  me  that  once  they  did  bark,  but  long  ago  the  dogs 
and  leopards  had  a  big  fight,  the  dogs  whipped  the 
leopards,  and  after  that  the  leopards  were  very  mad,  so 
the  mothers  of  the  little  dogs  told  them  not  to  bark 
any  more,  and  they  hadn't  barked  since. 

The  natives  tie  wooden  bells  around  their  dogs  to 
know  where  they  are.  Every  man  knows  the  sound  of 
his  bell  just  as  we  would  know  the  bark  of  our  dog. 

There  are  many,  many  kinds  of  birds  of  the  air,  all 


142  The  Upward  Path 

known  and  called  by  name,  and  the  food  they  eat,  their 
mode  of  building  nests,  etc.,  were  familiar  to  the  people. 
They  knew  the  customs  and  habits  of  the  elephant, 
hippopotamus,  buffalo,  leopard,  hyena,  jackal,  wildcat, 
monkey,  mouse,  and  every  animal  which  roams  the 
great  forest  and  plain,  —  from  the  thirty-foot  boa-con- 
strictor to  a  tiny  tulu  their  names  and  nature  were  well 
known. 

The  little  children  could  tell  you  the  native  names  of 
all  insects,  such  as  caterpillars,  crickets,  cockroaches, 
grasshoppers,  locusts,  mantis,  honey  bees,  bumble  bees, 
wasps,  hornets,  yellow  jackets,  goliath  beetles,  stage 
beetles,  ants,  etc. 

The  many  species  of  fish,  eels  and  terrapins  were  on 
the  end  of  their  tongues,  and  these  were  all  gathered 
and  used  for  food.  All  the  trees  of  the  forest  and  plain, 
the  flowers,  fruits,  nuts  and  berries  were  known  and 
named.  Roots  which  are  good  for  all  maladies  were 
not  only  known  to  the  medicine  man,  but  the  common 
people  knew  them  also. 


Cooperation  and  the  Latin  Class         143 
CO-OPERATION   AND   THE   LATIN   CLASS 

LILLIAN    B.    WITTEN 

The  few  minutes  that  intervened  between  the  devo- 
tionals  and  the  beginning  of  the  first  period  were  al- 
ways eagerly  seized  by  the  Senior  class  in  the  L 


high  school  for  those  last  furious  attempts  at  learning 
the  date  of  the  battle  of  Marathon,  the  duties  of  the 
President  of  the  United  States,  and  other  pieces  of  in- 
formation that  the  faculty  set  so  much  store  by. 

Bored  indifference  was  the  sole  notice  they  gave  to 
the  antics  of  the  freshmen  boys  who  were  trying  to  get 
a  Webster's  unabridged  dictionary  on  the  floor  of  the 
aisle  without  attracting  the  attention  of  the  guardian 
of  the  room. 

One  little  group  of  seniors  was  especially  busy,  co- 
operatively busy  one  might  say.  This  was  one  of  the 
overflow  divisions  of  eight  students  which  made  up  a 
class  in  Virgil.  In  all  of  the  athletics  of  their  three 
years  in  school  they  had  been  taught  the  value  of  team 
work  and  cooperation.  One  bright  student  had  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  bringing  this  same  team  work  into 
the  Virgil  class.  It  worked  beautifully.  Sixty  lines  of 
Virgil  was  their  customary  assignment.  Sixty  lines 
divided  among  eight  students,  as  everybody  could  see, 
was  about  eight  lines  per  student.  Each  pupil  had  his 
number   and   studied   correspondingly    number   one 


144!  The  Upward  Path 

translated  the  first  seven  lines  with  great  care,  number 
two  the  second  seven,  et  cetera  down  the  line.  Then 
during  the  study  period  which  preceded  the  Latin  reci- 
tation each  one  translated  his  lines  for  the  benefit  of 
the  other  seven,  while  they  attentively  followed  his 
translation  with  the  Latin  text. 

Busy  over  those  vindictive  lines  in  which  Queen 
Dido,  spurned  by  Aeneas,  pronounces  a  curse  upon  his 
head  and  all  his  generation,  the  eight  seniors  on  this 
particular  morning  translated  one  for  the  other,  "Hate, 
with  a  never-ceasing  hate."  All  of  the  savage  beauty 
of  the  lines  was  lost  on  them,  floundering  in  the  maze 
of  ablatives,  subjunctives  and  the  like.  But  they  man- 
aged between  them  all  to  make  out  some  sort  of  trans- 
lation. 

The  composition  work  lent  itself  to  team  work  much 
more  effectively.  There  were  ten  sentences  given  them 
each  day  to  be  translated  from  English  into  Latin. 
They  were  divided  among  the  eight  in  the  same  manner 
as  the  Virgil,  each  one  taking  turns  in  doing  the  two 
extra  sentences.  Passed  around  from  one  to  the  other 
and  carefully  copied  they  made  up  a  carefully  done 
composition  lesson.  The  beauty  of  it  was  that  the 
Latin  teacher  called  upon  them  to  put  these  sentences 
upon  the  board,  each  one  being  given  a  different  sen- 
tence. Thus  the  similarity  of  the  work  could  not  be  a 
subject  of  unpleasant  comment  by  the  teacher  who 
never  presumed  to  collect  the  notebooks. 


Cooperation  and  the  Latin  Class         145 

The  gong  sounded  for  second  period;  noise  and 
bustle  commenced,  the  Virgil  class  made  for  the  Latin 
recitation  room  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  prepared 
lessons.  Time  dragged  today  of  all  days,  the  day  of 
the  annual  football  game  between  the  Juniors  and  the 
Seniors,  so  much  more  vivid  than  the  wanderings  of 
Aeneas.  Red  and  orange,  the  colors  of  the  Senior  and 
Junior  classes  respectively,  were  everywhere  conspicu- 
ous. 

But  lessons  had  to  be  gotten  through  somehow  so 
with  open  books,  making  the  final  attempt  to  gather  up 
loose  ends  in  the  translation,  they  waited  for  the  reci- 
tation to  commence.  Miss  Rhodes,  the  young  Latin 
teacher,  had  observed  the  class  during  the  three  weeks 
of  the  new  term.  She  had  noted  the  fact  that  none  of 
the  class  excelled  the  others,  that  all  of  them  sometimes 
made  brilliant  recitations,  all  sometimes  stumbled 
through  passages  in  a  way  to  cause  the  long  deceased 
Virgil  to  blush  with  shame.  The  students  could  have 
explained  that  if  she  would  always  call  upon  them  for 
the  particular  seven  lines  which  had  been  their  portion 
they  could  always  be  brilliant.  However,  they  main- 
tained a  wise  and  discreet  silence.  Scientific  observa- 
tion and  analysis  is  never  wasted,  however. 

"Will  the  class  please  pass  their  Latin  sentences  to 
me?"  Miss  Rhodes  requested  at  the  beginning  of  the 
hour. 

Eight  pairs  of  eyes  were  instantly  fixed  on  her  in 


146  The  Upward  Path 

amazed  consternation.  Eight  pairs  of  unwilling  hands 
fumbled  among  papers  and  slowly  gave  up  the  one 
paper,  which  was  the  exact  duplicate  of  every  other 
paper.  "Hurry,  please,  class.  You  may  now  write  your 
translations  of  today's  lesson  for  twenty  minutes.'^ 

The  clock  ticked, 'eight  industrious  students  concen- 
trated and  slaved  over  Dido's  curse.  Translations 
which  sounded  plausible  enough  when  orally  stumbled 
through  did  not  look  well  when  written.  In  the  mean- 
time Miss  Rhodes  looked  through  the  sentences  which 
they  had  given  her.  Her  suspicions  were  confirmed. 
The  class,  unaware  that  they  were  harming  only  them- 
selves, were  daily  copying  their  sentences  from  each 
other.  Stolen  glances  at  the  young  and  pretty  teacher 
informed  the  students  that  her  mouth  had  tightened, 
her  chin  had  suddenly  become  terrifyingly  firm.  Aft-er 
an  eternity  had  passed  the  period  came  to  an  end. 

"Class  is  dismissed.  Please  reassemble  in  this  room 
this  afternoon  at  2.30,"  Miss  Rhodes  succinctly  stated. 
Did  they  hear  aright?  Why,  this  afternoon  was  the 
afternoon  of  the  game.  It  was  incredible.  Eight 
seniors  and  one  of  them  the  crack  halfback  of  the 
senior  team,  not  to  be  at  their  own  game.  It  was  not 
to  be  dreamed  of.    In  vain  they  protested. 

"If  you  expect  to  graduate,  you  will  be  here  at  2.30. 
Cheaters  deserve  no  consideration." 

Half  past  two  found  the  eight  sad  and  wiser  seniors 
again  in  the  Latin  room.    Again  they  applied  them- 


Cooperation  and  the  Latin  Class        147 

selves  to  translating  Latin  into  English,  English  into 
Latin,  while  in  the  distance  they  could  hear  the  shouts 
of  the  football  fans.  The  hours  ticked  by.  The  game 
was  over,  the  Juniors  winners  in  one  of  the  closest 
games  of  years  over  the  Seniors,  who  lost  because  of  the 
absence  of  their  halfback  who  sat  translating  Latin, 
failing  his  class  in  their  need.  He  would  never  live 
down  the  shame. 

Just  before  dismissing  this  extra  session  of  the  class, 
Miss  Rhodes  quietly  said,  "Let  me  tell  you  from  ex- 
perience that  the  ability  to  make  a  good  bluff  is  a  rare 
gift.  Good  bluffs  are  always  founded  on  consistent 
hard  work." 

Slowly  and  sadly  the  Virgil  class  passed  out  of  the 
room ;  realizing  that  the  days  of  cooperative  Virgil  were 
relegated  to  the  dim,  suffering  past. 


148  The  Upward  Path 


THE   BAND   OF   GIDEON 

JOSEPH    S.    COTTER 

The  Band  of  Gideon  roam  the  sky, 
The  howling  wind  is  their  war-cry, 
The  thunder's  roll  is  their  trump's  peal, 
And  the  lightning's  flash  their  vengeful  steel. 

Each  black  cloud 

Is  a  fiery  steed. 

And  they  cry  aloud 

With  each  strong  deed, 
"The  sword  of  the  Lord  and  Gideon." 

And  men  below  rear  temples  high 
And  mock  their  God  with  reasons  why. 
And  live,  in  arrogance,  sin  and  shame, 
And  rape  their  souls  for  the  world's  good  name. 

Each  black  cloud 

Is  a  fiery  steed. 

And  they  cry  aloud 

With  each  strong  deed, 
"The  sword  of  the  Lord  and  Gideon." 

The  band  of  Gideon  roam  the  sky 
And  view  the  earth  with  baleful  eye; 
In  holy  wrath  they  scourge  the  land 
With  earthquake,  storm  and  burning  brand. 


The  Band  of  Gideon  149 

Each  black  cloud 
Is  a  fiery  steed. 
And  they  cry  aloud 
With  each  strong  deed, 
"The  sword  of  the  Lord  and  Gideon." 

The  lightnings  flash  and  the  thunders  roll, 
And  "Lord  have  mercy  on  my  soul," 
Cry  men  as  they  fall  on  the  stricken  sod, 
In  agony  searching  for  their  God. 

Each  black  cloud 

Is  a  fiery  steed. 

And  they  cry  aloud 

With  each  strong  deed, 
"The  sword  of  the  Lord  and  Gideon." 

And  men  repent  and  then  forget 

That  heavenly  wrath  they  ever  met. 

The  band  of  Gideon  yet  will  come 

And  strike  their  tongues  of  blasphemy  dumb. 

Each  black  cloud 

Is  a  fiery  steed. 

And  they  cry  aloud 

With  each  strong  deed, 
"The  sword  of  the  Lord  and  Gideon." 


150  The  Upward  Path 


THE  HOME  OF  THE 
COLORED  GIRL  BEAUTIFUL 

AZALIA    HACKLEY 

The  Home  of  the  Colored  Girl  Beautiful  will  reflect 
her.  She  will  help  her  parents  to  buy  a  home  that  it 
may  give  her  family  more  standing  in  the  civic  com- 
munity. Taste  and  simplicity  will  rule,  for  the  home 
will  harmonize  with  the  girl.  If  her  parents  are  not 
particular  about  the  trifles  in  the  way  of  curtains, 
fences,  and  yards,  then  it  must  be  her  special  task  to 
make  the  home  represent  the  beautiful  in  her,  the  God, 
for  all  that  is  beautiful  and  good  comes  from  God. 

Windows  generally  express  the  character  of  the  occu- 
pants of  a  house.  The  day  has  passed  when  soiled  or 
ragged  lace  curtains  are  tolerated.  The  cheaper  simpler 
scrims  and  cheese  cloths  which  are  easily  laundered  are 
now  used  by  the  best  people. 

The  Colored  Girl  Beautiful  will  study  the  possi- 
bilities of  her  home  and  will  attempt  to  secure  the 
restful  effects  for  the  eye.  Too  much  furniture  is  bad 
taste.  The  less  one  has,  the  cleaner  houses  may  be 
kept. 

The  ornate  heavy  furniture  and  the  upholstered 
parlor  sets  are  passing  away  because  they  are  no  longer 
considered  good  taste,  besides  they  are  too  heavy  for 


The  Home  of  the  Colored  Girl  Beautiful     151 

cleanliness  and  are  harmful  to  the  health  of  women 
who  do  their  own  work. 

Furniture  of  less  expensive  model,  with  simple  lines 
and  of  less  weight  is  being  selected.  This  may  be 
paid  for  in  cash  instead  of  *^on  time,"  as  has  been  the 
custom  of  many  people  in  smaller  towns  and  in  the 
country  districts. 

The  furniture  sold  by  the  payment  houses  always 
shows  its  source  in  its  heaviness  and  shininess. 

The  wall  paper  should  be  selected  as  one  would  select 
a  color  for  clothes,  to  harmonize  with  the  color  of  the 
skin  in  all  lights,  and  for  service.  Color  schemes  in 
decoration  are  being  followed  and  we  have  no  more 
stuffy  parlors,  often  closed  for  days.  Instead  we  have 
living  rooms,  with  cleanable  furniture,  strong  but  light, 
entirely  suitable  for  winter,  and  cool  in  summer.  No 
one  has  a  parlor  now-a-days.  The  best  room  is  gen- 
erally a  living  room  for  the  whole  family.  No  more  do 
we  see  enlarged  pictures  which  good  taste  demands 
should  be  placed  in  bedrooms  and  private  sitting 
rooms.  The  ten-cent  stores  have  done  a  great  deal  of 
good  in  educating  the  poor,  white  and  black  alike. 
These  stores  have  everywhere  sold  small  brown  art 
prints  of  many  of  the  great  paintings,  to  take  the  place 
of  the  gaudy  dust-laden  chromos  and  family  pictures. 

Pictures  are  hung  low  that  they  may  be  thoroughly 
dusted,  as  well  as  to  give  a  near  view  of  the  subject. 

Expensive   carpets    are    also    things   of    the   past. 


152  The  Upward  Path 

Painted  and  stained  floors  with  light  weight  rugs  are 
more  generally  used.  These  may  be  cleaned  and 
handled  without  giving  the  backache  to  women.  Many 
colored  girls  boast  of  having  painted  their  own  floors 
and  woodwork.  Much  of  this  has  been  learned  in  the 
boarding  school. 

A  tawdry  home  expresses  its  mistress  as  do  her 
clothes.  Next  to  the  kitchen  a  fully  equipped  bath 
room  is  now  the  most  important  room  in  the  house. 
Health  and  sanitation  are  the  topics  of  the  hour  and  a 
colored  girl  should  know  how  to  put  a  washer  on  a 
faucet  as  well  as  her  father  or  brother. 

A  house  without  books  is  indeed  an  unfurnished 
home.  Good  books  are  the  fad  now.  They  are  every- 
where in  evidence  in  the  up-to-date  colored  home. 
They  are  exhibited  almost  as  hand-painted  china  was. 
In  every  inventory  or  collection  one  finds  a  Bible,  a 
dictionary,  and  an  atlas. 

The  times  are  changing  and  the  colored  people  are 
changing  with  the  times.  Cleanliness  and  health  are 
the  watchwords,  and  "Order"  is  Heaven's  first  law. 


The  Knighting  of  Donald  153 

THE   KNIGHTING   OF  DONALD 

LILLIAN  B.   WITTEN 

"With  spear  drawn  Sir  Cedric  rode  steadily  through 
the  forest,  while  ever  nearer  and  nearer  came  the 
.dragon.  Swift  and  sudden  was  the  onslaught  and 
great  was  the  struggle,  until  finally  Sir  Cedric  dis- 
mounted from  his  black  charger  and  stood  victor  over 
the  huge  monster  who  had  committed  so  many  depre- 
dations against  the  country  side." 

Slowly  and  lingeringly  Donald  closed  the  book.  The 
many-branched  tree  under  which  he  lay  changed  into 
a  grey  stone  castle  with  moat  and  drawbridge  upon 
which  through  the  day  armored  knights  on  prancing 
steeds  rode  from  castle  to  village,  always  on  missions 
of  good  to  the  towns  and  hamlets.  Never  did  Donald 
tire  of  reading  about  Arthur,  Galahad,  Merlin  and  the 
others,  but  Launcelot,  the  Bold,  was  his  favorite  knight. 
As  he  read  of  their  deeds  his  black  eyes  flashed,  his 
nervous  slim  body  quivered,  the  deep  rich  red  flooded 
his  brown  cheeks.  He  was  one  of  them,  took  part  in 
their  tournaments,  rescued  the  lovely  ladies  and  over- 
came wicked  monsters  for  his  king. 

Of  all  the  stories  a  never-to-be-forgotten  one  was  of 
a  little  boy  like  himself  who  lived  in  a  small  cottage 
near  a  castle  which  harbored  many  knights.  This 
little  boy  idolized  them  even  as  Donald  did.    One  day 


154  TJie  Upward  Path 

as  the  knights  were  returning  from  a  strenuous  day's 
work,  one,  weary  and  worn,  stopped  at  the  cottage  and 
asked  for  a  drink  of  water.  Eagerly  the  boy  ran,  filled 
his  cup  at  the  brimming  spring,  and  gave  it  to  the 
knight. 

^Thank  you,  my  little  boy,"  smiled  the  man.  "Al- 
ready you  are  a  knight  for  you  have  learned  the  lesson 
of  service." 

How  Donald  envied  the  boy.  To  serve  a  knight,  he 
dreamed,  even  to  see  one.  Would  he  had  lived  in  the 
olden  times  when  knighthood  was  in  flower.  But  hav- 
ing been  born  centuries  too  late  he  tried  in  every  way 
to  live  as  the  knights  had  lived.  Daily  he  exercised, 
practiced  physical  feats,  restrained  himself  from  over 
indulgence,  following  out  the  program  of  those  who 
would  be  knights.  With  shining  eyes  he  would  often 
repeat  his  motto,  the  motto  of  Arthur's  knights :  "Live 
pure,  speak  the  truth,  right  the  wrong,  follow  the 
Christ." 

Thus  dreaming  Donald  grew  and  everybody  loved 
him.  Dreamer  though  he  was,  he  ever  kept  before  him 
the  ideal  of  service.  Tense  with  interest  in  the  exploits 
of  the  black  knight,  he  was  often  tempted  not  to  an- 
swer when  his  mother  called  him  from  his  reading  to 
go  on  errands.  Only  a  second,  however,  would  tempta- 
tion last.  Launcelot  could  never  approve  of  a  boy  who 
acted  dishonestly. 

Working,  playing,  and  dreaming,  Donald  grew  into 


The  Knighting  of  Donald  155 

a  lovable  boy,  adept  in  all  of  the  sports  of  boyhood 
and  with  the  manners  of  a  prince.  He  had  reached 
the  last  year  in  grammar  school,  the  graduating  class. 
Already  the  obligations  of  maturity  were  forcing  them- 
selves upon  the  boys  and  girls.  They,  for  the  first  time 
in  their  school  career,  were  an  organized  group.  They 
were  going  to  elect  officers,  dignified  officers.  Nomina- 
tions had  been  many  and  enthusiasm  surged  around 
the  youthful  candidates,  but  the  choice  for  president 
had  narrowed  itself  down  between  Donald  and  a  laugh- 
ing-eyed girl  with  crinkly  black  hair.  As  usual  there 
were  more  girls  in  the  class  than  boys,  but  while  the 
bo3's  stood  solidly  as  one  behind  the  masculine  candi- 
date, there  were  a  few  girls  who  put  their  trust  in 
manly  courage  rather  than  feminine  charm  and  were 
disposed  to  break  loose  from  the  suffragette  camp. 
Public  opinion  thus  gave  the  election  to  Donald. 

As  the  time  for  election  drew  near,  the  interest  be- 
came more  intense  and  the  various  camps  campaigned 
vigorously,  each  striving  to  gain  the  majority  vote. 
One  day  as  the  school  was  assembling  in  their  usual 
room  they  were  stopped  by  the  sight  of  their  principal 
questioning  one  of  the  members  of  the  class. 

"But  this  is  your  knife,  isn't  it?"  sternly  inquired 
the  principal. 

"Yes,  sir,"  responded  John,  a  trustworthy  boy,  the 
son  of  a  widowed  mother  whom  he  helped  by  working 
after  school  hours. 


150  The  Upward  Path 

"Mr.  Starks  found  this  knife  underneath  his  broken 
window  last  night.  It  had  evidently  been  dropped  by 
the  boy  who,  in  climbing  out  of  his  cherry  tree,  acci- 
dentally smashed  the  window.  You  know  that  I  an- 
nounced last  week  that  the  next  boy  who  was  caught 
trespassing  upon  Mr.  Starks'  property  would  be  sus- 
pended from  school  for  the  rest  of  the  year.  I  am  dis- 
appointed in  you,  John.  This  does  not  sound  like  you. 
Did  you  drop  this  knife  last  night?" 

"No,  sir,"  responded  John. 

"No?    Well,  speak  up.    Who  had  the  knife?" 

"I  can't  say,  sir." 

"But  you  must.  This  is  a  serious  matter.  One  of 
the  rules  of  the  school  has  been  broken."  Then  look- 
ing nervously  around  the  room  of  girls  and  boys,  the 
principal  commanded :  "Will  the  boy  who  dropped  this 
knife  last  night  speak,  or  shall  I  be  forced  to  find  out 
the  culprit  for  myself?" 

There  was  no  answer.  Every  boy  stood  taut,  his 
eyes  steadfastly  before  him  in  the  thick  silence  that 
followed. 

"Very  well,"  snapped  the  principal.  "John,  who  had 
the  knife  yesterday?" 

"I  cannot  sa>-,  sir,"  responded  John  unwillingly. 

"You  may  do  one  of  two  things,  either  you  will 
tell  the  name  of  the  boy  to  whom  you  lent  the  knife 
or  you  may  be  suspended  from  school  for  the  rest  of 
the  year." 


The  Knighting  of  Donald  157 

The  silence  was  more  intense.  One,  two,  three  min- 
utes passed. 

**You  are  dismissed,"  said  the  principal. 

Slowly  John  left  the  room.  Three  days  passed. 
John's  mother,  much  disturbed,  bewailed  the  fact  that 
he  would  lose  this  year  out  of  his  school  life  and,  per- 
haps, would  not  have  the  opportunity  of  going  again. 
John  thought  of  the  responsibility  toward  his  mother 
and  then  of  that  toward  the  boy  whose  fault  he  was 
concealing.  Was  he  doing  right  or  was  he  doing  the 
easiest  thing  in  not  telling? 

On  the  fourth  day  John  sought  the  principal.  *lf 
it  is  necessary  to  tell  the  name  of  the  boy  who  had  my 
knife  before  I  can  return  to  school,  I  will  tell,"  he 
anxiously  said. 

"It  certainly  is  necessary." 

And  John  told. 

There  was  great  excitement  in  the  graduating  class. 
The  traditions  of  centuries  had  been  broken.  One  of 
their  number  had  become  a  tattler.  John  resumed 
his  school  work,  systematically  and  obviously  shunned 
by  the  other  boys. 

But  Donald  reflected  over  the  incident.  "After  all," 
he  thought,  "John  did  the  bravest  thing.  It  would 
have  been  easier  to  appear  heroic  and  to  sacrifice  his 
mother  for  the  sake  of  a  boy  who  needed  to  be  pun- 
ished." 

The  next  day  Donald  sought  John,  accompanied  him 


158  The  Upward  Path 

to  school,  and  showed  the  class  that  he  regarded  John 
as  a  hero  instead  of  a  tell-tale. 

The  boys  divided  into  two  camps,  some  following 
Donald's  example,  and  others  loudly  denouncing  him. 


-vr- 


f 


Donald's  sponsorship  of  John  cost  him  the  presiden- 
tial election  just  as  he  had  foreseen,  but  he  knew  that 
he  had  lived  up  to  the  best  within  him  and  he  was 
satisfied. 

As  he  climbed  into  bed  at  the  end  of  the  day  upon 
which  he  had  been  defeated  and  yet  had  gained  a  great 
victory,  his  mother  tucked  the  covers  closely  around 
him,  kissed  him  good-night,  and  lowered  the  light. 
Then  she  bent  over  him  again  and  kissed  him  once 
more  and  whispered, 

"My  brave  little  knight." 


A  Negro  Explorer  at  the  North  Pole    159 


A  NEGRO  EXPLORER  AT  THE 
NORTH  POLE 

MATTHEW    A.    HENSON 

"Matthew  A.  Henson,  my  Negro  assistant,  has  been 
with  me  in  one  capacity  or  another  since  my  second 
trip  to  Nicaragua  in  1887.  I  have  taken  him  on  each 
and  all  of  my  expeditions,  except  the  first,  and  also 
without  exception  on  each  of  my  farthest  sledge  trips. 
This  position  I  have  given  him  primarily  because  of 
his  adaptability  and  fitness  for  the  work  and  secondly 
on  account  of  his  loyalty.  He  is  a  better  dog  driver  and 
can  handle  a  sledge  better  than  any  man  living,  except 
some  of  the  best  Esquimo  hunters  themselves. 

"Robert  E.  Peary,  Rear  Admiral,  U.  S.  N." 

Exactly  40°  below  zero  when  we  pushed  the  sledges 
up  to  the  curled-up  dogs  and  started  them  off  over 
rough  ice  covered  with  deep  soft  snow.  It  was  like 
walking  in  loose  granulated  sugar.  Indeed  I  might 
compare  the  snow  of  the  Arctic  to  the  granules  of 
sugar,  without  their  saccharine  sweetness,  but  with 
freezing  cold  instead;  you  cannot  make  snowballs  of 
it,  for  it  is  too  thoroughly  congealed,  and  when  it  is 
packed  by  the  wind  it  is  almost  as  solid  as  ice.  It  is 
from  the  packed  snow  that  the  blocks  used  to  form  the 
igloo-walls  are  cut. 


160  The  Upward  Path 

At  the  end  of  four  hours,  we  came  to  the  igloo  where 
the  Captain  and  his  boys  were  sleeping  the  sleep  of 
utter  exhaustion.  In  order  not  to  interrupt  the  Cap- 
tain's rest,  we  built  another  igloo  and  unloaded  his 
sledge,  and  distributed  the  greater  part  of  the  load 
among  the  sledges  of  the  party.  The  Captain,  on 
awakening,  told  us  that  the  journey  we  had  completed 
on  that  day  had  been  made  by  him  under  the  most 
trying  conditions,  and  that  it  had  taken  him  fourteen 
hours  to  do  it.  We  were  able  to  make  better  time  be- 
cause we  had  his  trail  to  follow,  and,  therefore,  the 
necessity  of  finding  the  easiest  way  was  avoided.  That 
was  the  object  of  the  scout  or  pioneer  party  and  Cap- 
tain Bartlett  had  done  practically  all  of  it  up  to  the 
time  he  turned  back  at  87°  -48'  north. 

March  29,  1909:  You  have  undoubtedly  taken  into 
consideration  the  pangs  of  hunger  and  of  cold  that  you 
know  assailed  us,  going  Poleward;  but  have  you  ever 
considered  that  we  were  thirsty  for  water  to  drink  or 
hungry  for  fat?  To  eat  snow  to  quench  our  thirsts 
would  have  been  the  height  of  folly,  and  as  well  as 
being  thirsty,  we  were  continually  assailed  by  the 
pangs  of  a  hunger  that  called  for  the  fat,  good,  rich, 
oily,  juicy  fat  that  our  systems  craved  and  demanded. 

Had  we  succumbed  to  the  temptations  of  the  thirst 
and  eaten  the  snow,  we  would  not  be  able  to  tell  the 
tale  of  the  conquest  of  the  Pole ;  for  the  result  of  eating 
snow  is  death.    True,  the  dogs  licked  up  enough  mois- 


A  Negro  Explorer  at  the  North  Pole    161 

ture  to  quench  their  thirsts,  but  we  were  not  made 
of  such  stern  stuff  as  they.  Snow  would  have  reduced 
our  temperatures  and  we  would  quickly  have  fallen 
by  the  way.  We  had  to  wait  until  camp  was  made  and 
the  fire  of  alcohol  started  before  we  had  a  chance,  and 
it  was  with  hot  tea  that  we  quenched  our  thirsts.  The 
hunger  for  fat  was  not  appeased;  a  dog  or  two  was 
killed,  but  his  carcass  went  to  the  Esquimos  and  the 
entrails  were  fed  to  the  rest  of  the  pack. 

April  1,  the  Farthest  North  of  Bartlett:  I  knew  at 
this  time  that  he  was  to  go  back,  and  that  I  was  to 
continue,  so  I  had  no  misgivings  and  neither  had  he. 
He  was  ready  and  anxious  to  take  the  back-trail.  His 
five  marches  were  up  and  he  was  glad  of  it,  and  he  was 
told  that  in  the  morning  he  must  turn  back  and  knit 
the  trail  together,  so  that  the  main  column  could  re- 
turn over  a  beaten  path. 

He  swept  his  little  party  together  and  at  three 
P.  M.,  with  a  cheery  "Good-by!  Good  Luck!"  he  was 
off.  His  Esquimo  boys,  attempting  English,  too, 
gave  us  their  "Good-bys." 

The  Captain  had  gone.  Commander  Peary  and  I 
were  alone  (save  for  the  four  Esquimos),  the  same  we 
had  been  with  so  often  in  the  past  years,  and  as  we 
looked  at  each  other  we  realized  our  position  and  we 
knew  without  speaking  that  the  time  had  come  for  us 
to  demonstrate  that  we  were  the  men  who,  it  had  been 
ordained,  should  unlock  the  door  which  held  the  mys- 


162  The  Upward  Path 

tery  of  the  Arctic.  Without  an  instant's  hesitation, 
the  order  to  push  on  was  given,  and  we  started  off  in 
the  trail  made  by  the  Captain  to  cover  the  Farthest 
North  he  had  made  and  to  push  on  over  one  hundred 
and  thirty  miles  to  our  final  destination. 

Day  and  night  were  the  same.  My  thoughts  were 
on  the  going  and  getting  forward,  and  on  nothing  else. 
The  wind  was  from  the  southeast,  and  seemed  to  push 
on,  and  the  sun  was  at  our  backs,  a  ball  of  livid  fire, 
rolling  his  way  above  the  horizon  in  never-ending  day. 

With  my  proven  ability  in  gauging  distances,  Com- 
mander Peary  was  ready  to  take  the  reckoning  as  I 
made  it  and  he  did  not  resort  to  solar  observations 
until  we  were  within  a  hand's  grasp  of  the  Pole. 

The  memory  of  those  last  five  marches,  from  the 
Farthest  North  of  Captain  Bartlett  to  the  arrival  of 
our  party  at  the  Pole,  is  a  memory  of  toil,  fatigue,  and 
exhaustion,  but  we  were  urged  on  and  encouraged  by 
our  relentless  commander,  who  was  himself  being 
scourged  by  the  final  lashings  of  the  dominating  in- 
fluence that  had  controlled  his  life.  From  the  land  to 
87°  48'  north.  Commander  Peary  had  had  the  best  of 
the  going,  for  he  had  brought  up  the  rear  and  had 
utilized  the  trail  made  by  the  preceding  parties,  and 
thus  he  had  kept  himself  in  the  best  of  condition  for 
the  time  when  he  made  the  spurt  that  brought  him  to 
the  end  of  the  race.  From  87°  48'  north,  he  kept  in 
the  lead  and  did  his  work  in  such  a  way  as  to  convince 


A  Negro  Explorer  at  the  North  Pole    163 

me  that  he  was  still  as  good  a  man  as  he  had  ever 
been.  We  marched  and  marched,  falling  down  in  our 
tracks  repeatedly,  until  it  was  impossible  to  go  on. 
We  were  forced  to  camp,  in  spite  of  the  impatience  of 
the  Commander,  who  found  himself  unable  to  rest, 
and  who  only  waited  long  enough  for  us  to  relax  into 
sound  sleep,  when  he  would  wake  us  up  and  start  us 
off  again.  I  do  not  believe  that  he  slept  for  one  hour 
from  April  2  until  after  he  had  loaded  us  up  and  or- 
dered us  to  go  back  over  our  old  trail,  and  I  often 
think  that  from  the  instant  when  the  order  to  return 
was  given  until  the  land  was  again  sighted,  he  was  in 
a  continual  daze. 

Onward  we  forced  our  weary  way.  Commander 
Peary  took  his  sights  from  the  time  our  chronometer- 
watches  gave,  and  I,  knowing  that  we  had  kept  on 
going  in  practically  a  straight  line,  was  sure  that  we 
had  more  than  covered  the  necessary  distance  to  in- 
sure our  arrival  at  the  top  of  the  earth. 

It  was  during  the  march  of  the  3d  of  April  that  I 
endured  an  instant  of  hideous  horror.  We  were  cross- 
ing a  lane  of  moving  ice.  Commander  Peary  was  in 
the  lead  setting  the  pace,  and  a  half  hour  later  the 
four  boys  and  myself  followed  in  single  file.  They 
had  all  gone  before,  and  I  was  standing  and  pushing 
at  the  upstanders  of  my  sledge,  when  the  block  of  ice 
I  was  using  as  a  support  slipped  from  underneath  my 
feet,  and  before  I  knew  it  the  sledge  was  out  of  my 


164  The  Upward  Path 

grasp,  and  I  was  floundering  in  the  water  of  the  lead. 
I  did  the  best  I  could.  I  tore  my  hood  from  off  my 
head  and  struggled  frantically.  My  hands  were  gloved 
and  I  could  not  take  hold  of  the  ice,  but  before  I  could 
give  the  ''Grand  Hailing  Sigh  of  Distress,"  faithful  old 
Ootah  had  grabbed  me  by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  the 
same  as  he  would  have  grabbed  a  dog,  and  with  one 
hand  he  pulled  me  out  of  the  water,  and  with  the 
other  hurried  the  team  across. 

He  had  saved  my  life,  but  I  did  not  tell  him  so,  for 
such  occurrences  are  taken  as  part  of  the  day's  work, 
and  the  sledge  he  safeguarded  was  of  much  more  im- 
portance, for  it  held,  as  part  of  its  load,  the  Com- 
mander's sextant,  the  mercury,  and  the  coils  of  piano- 
wire  that  were  the  essential  portion  of  the  scientific 
part  of  the  expedition.  My  kamiks  (boots  of  sealskin) 
were  stripped  off,  and  the  congealed  water  was  beaten 
out  of  my  bearskin  trousers,  and  with  a  dry  pair  of 
kamiks,  we  hurried  on  to  overtake  the  column.  When 
we  caught  up,  we  found  the  boys  gathered  around  the 
Commander,  doing  their  best  to  relieve  him  of  his  dis- 
comfort, for  he  had  fallen  into  the  water,  also,  and 
while  he  was  not  complaining,  I  was  sure  that  his  bath 
had  not  been  any  more  voluntary  than  mine  had  been. 

It  was  about  ten  or  ten-thirty  A.  M.,  on  the  7th  of 
April,  1909,  that  the  Commander  gave  the  order  to 
build  a  snow-shield  to  protect  him  from  the  flying  drift 
of  the  surface-snow.    I  knew  that  he  was  about  to  take 


A  Negro  Explorer  at  the  North  Pole    165 

an  observation,  and  while  we  worked  1  was  nervously 
apprehensive,  for  I  felt  that  the  end  of  our  journey 
had  come.  When  we  handed  him  the  pan  of  mercury 
the  hour  was  within  a  very  few  minutes  of  noon.  Ly- 
ing flat  on  his  stomach,  he  took  the  elevation  and  made 
the  notes  on  a  piece  of  tissue-paper  at  his  head.  With 
sun-blinded  eyes,  he  snapped  shut  the  vernier  (a  grad- 
uated scale  that  subdivides  the  smallest  divisions  on 
the  sector  of  the  circular  scale  of  the  sextant)  and  with 
the  resolute  squaring  of  his  jaws,  I  was  sure  that  he 
was  satisfied,  and  I  was  confident  that  the  journey  had 
ended. 

The  Commander  gave  the  word,  "We  will  plant  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  —  at  the  North  Pole!'*  and  it  was 
done;  on  the  peak  of  a  huge  paleocrystic  floeberg  the 
glorious  banner  was  unfurled  to  the  breeze,  and  as  it 
snapped  and  crackled  with  the  wind,  I  felt  a  savage 
joy  and  exultation.  Another  world's  accomplishment 
was  done  and  finished,  and  as  in  the  past,  from  the 
beginning  of  history,  wherever  the  world's  work  was 
done  by  a  white  man,  he  had  been  accompanied  by  a 
colored  man.  From  the  building  of  the  pyramids  and 
the  journey  to  the  Cross,  to  the  discovery  of  the  North 
Pole,  the  Negro  had  been  the  faithful  and  constant 
companion  of  the  Caucasian,  and  I  felt  all  that  it  was 
possible  for  me  to  feel,  that  it  was  I,  a  lowly  member 
of  my  race,  who  had  been  chosen  by  fate  to  represent 
it,  at  this,  almost  the  last  of  the  world's  great  work. 


166  The  Upward  Path 

BENJAMIN   BANNEKER 

WILLIAM  WELLS  BROWN 

Benjamin  Banneker  was  born  in  the  State  of  Mary- 
land, in  the  year  1732,  of  pure  African  parentage;  their 
blood  never  having  been  corrupted  by  the  introduction 
of  a  drop  of  Anglo-Saxon.  His  father  was  a  slave,  and 
of  course  could  do  nothing  towards  the  education  of 
the  child.  The  mother,  however,  being  free,  succeeded 
in  purchasing  the  freedom  of  her  husband,  and  they, 
with  their  son,  settled  on  a  few  acres  of  land^  where 
Benjamin  remained  during  the  lifetime  of  his  parents. 
His  entire  schooling  was  gained  from  an  obscure  coun- 
try school,  established  for  the  education  of  the  children 
of  free  negroes;  and  these  advantages  were  poor,  for 
the  boy  appears  to  have  finished  studying  before  he 
arrived  at  his  fifteenth  year. 

Although  out  of  school,  Banneker  was  still  a  student, 
and  read  with  great  care  and  attention  such  books  as 
he  could  get.  Mr.  George  Ellicott,  a  gentlemen  of  for- 
tune and  considerable  literary  taste,  and  who  resided 
near  to  Benjamin,  became  interested  in  him,  and  lent 
him  books  from  his  large  library.  Among  these  books 
were  three  on  Astronomy.  A  few  old  and  imperfect 
astronomical  instruments  also  found  their  way  into  the 
boy's  hands,  all  of  which  he  used  with  great  benefit  to 
his  own  mind. 


Benjamin  Banneker  167 

Banneker  took  delight  in  the  study  of  the  languages, 
and  soon  mastered  the  Latin,  Greek  and  German.  He 
was  also  proficient  in  the  French.  The  classics  were 
not  neglected  by  him,  and  the  general  literary  knowl- 
edge which  he  possessed  caused  Mr.  Ellicott  to  regard 
him  as  the  most  learned  man  in  the  town,  and  he  never 
failed  to  introduce  Banneker  to  his  most  distinguished 
guests. 

About  this  time  Benjamin  turned  his  attention  par- 
ticularly to  astronomy,  and  determined  on  making  cal- 
culations for  an  almanac,  and  completed  a  set  for 
the  whole  year.  Encouraged  by  this  attempt,  he  en- 
tered upon  calculations  for  subsequent  years,  which,  as 
well  as  the  former,  he  began  and  finished  without  the 
least  assistance  from  any  person  or  books  than  those 
already  mentioned ;  so  that  whatever  merit  is  attached 
to  his  performance  is  exclusively  his  own. 

He  published  an  almanac  in  Philadelphia  for  the 
years  1792,  '93,  '94,  and  '95,  which  contained  his  calcu- 
lations, exhibiting  the  different  aspects  of  the  planets, 
a  table  of  the  motions  of  the  sun  and  moon,  their  ris- 
ings and  settings,  and  the  courses  of  the  bodies  of  the 
planetary  system.  By  this  time  Banneker's  acquire- 
ments had  become  generally  known,  and  the  best 
scholars  in  the  country  opened  correspondence  with 
him.  Goddard  &  Angell,  the  well-known  Baltimore 
publishers,  engaged  his  pen  for  their  establishment, 
and  became  the  publishers  of  his  almanacs. 


168  The  Upward  Path 

He  knew  every  branch  of  history,  both  natural  and 
civil;  he  had  read  all  the  original  historians  of  Eng- 
land, France,  and  was  a  great  antiquarian.  With  such 
a  fund  of  knowledge  his  conversation  was  equally  in- 
teresting, instructive,  and  entertaining.  Banneker 
was  so  favorably  appreciated  by  the  first  families  in 
Virginia,  that  in  1803  he  was  invited  by  Mr.  Jeffer- 
son, then  President  of  the  United  States,  to  visit  him 
at  Monticello,  where  the  statesman  had  gone  for  recrea- 
tion. But  he  was  too  infirm  to  undertake  the  journey. 
He  died  the  following  year,  aged  seventy-two.  Like 
the  golden  sun  that  has  sunk  beneath  the  western 
horizon,  but  still  throws  upon  the  world,  which  he  sus- 
tained and  enlightened  in  his  career,  the  reflected 
beams  of  his  departed  genius,  his  name  can  only  perish 
with  his  language. 

THE   NEGRO   RACE 

CHARLES   W.   ANDERSON 

As  a  race,  we  have  done  much,  but  we  must  not  for- 
get how  much  more  there  is  still  to  do.  To  some 
extent  we  have  been  given  opportunity,  but  we 
must  not  cease  to  remember  that  no  race  can 
be  given  relative  rank  —  it  must  win  equality  of 
rating  for  itself.  Hence,  we  must  not  only  acquire 
education,  but  character  as  well.  It  is  not  only 
necessary  that  we  should  speak  well,  but  it  is  more 
necessary  that  we  should  speak  the  truth. 


Paul  Cuffe  169 

PAUL   CUFFE 

JOHN  W.  CROMWELL 

Paul  Cuffe  was  born  in  1759  on  the  island  of  Cut- 
tyhunk,  near  New  Bedford,  Massachusetts.  There 
were  four  sons  and  six  daughters  of  John  Cuffe  who 
had  been  stolen  from  Africa,  and  Ruth,  a  woman  of 
Indian  extraction.  Paul,  the  youngest  son,  lacked  the 
advantage  of  an  early  education,  but  he  supplied  the 
deficiency  by  his  personal  efforts  and  learned  not  only 
to  read  and  write  with  facility,  but  made  such  pro- 
ficiency in  the  art  of  navigation  as  to  become  a  skillful 
seaman  and  the  instructor  of  both  whites  and  blacks 
in  the  same  art. 

His  father,  who  nad  obtained  his  freedom  and  bought 
a  farm  of  one  hundred  acres,  died  when  Paul  was 
about  fourteen.  When  he  was  sixteen,  Paul  began 
the  life  of  a  sailor.  On  his  third  voyage  he  was  cap- 
tured by  a  British  brig  and  was  for  three  months  a 
prisoner  of  war.  On  his  release  he  planned  to  go  into 
business  on  his  own  account.  With  the  aid  of  an 
elder  brother,  David  Cuffe,  an  open  boat  was  built  in 
which  they  went  to  sea;  but  this  brother  on  the  first 
intimation  of  danger  gave  up  the  venture  and  Paul  was 
forced  to  undertake  the  work  single-handed  and  alone, 
which  was  a  sore  disappointment.  On  his  second  at- 
tempt he  lost  all  he  had. 


170  The  Upward  Path 

Before  the  close  of  the  Revolutionary  War,  Paul 
refused  to  pay  a  personal  tax,  on  the  ground  that  free 
colored  people  did  not  enjoy  the  rights  and  privileges 
of  citizenship.  After  considerable  delay,  and  an  appeal 
to  the  courts,  he  paid  the  tax  under  protest.  He  then 
petitioned  to  the  legislature  which  finally  agreed  to 
his  contention.  His  efforts  are  the  first  of  which  there 
is  any  record  of  a  citizen  of  African  descent  making  a 
successful  appeal  in  behalf  of  his  civil  rights.  On  reach- 
ing the  age  of  twenty-five  he  married  a  woman  of  the 
same  tribe  as  his  mother,  and  for  a  while  gave  up  life 
on  the  ocean  wave;  but  the  growth  of  his  family  led 
him  back  to  his  fond  pursuit  on  the  briny  deep.  As  he 
was  unable  to  purchase  a  boat,  with  the  aid  of  his 
brother  he  built  one  from  keel  to  gunwale  and  launched 
into  the  enterprise. 

While  on  the  way  to  a  nearby  island  to  consult  his 
brother  whom  he  had  induced  once  more  to  venture 
forth  with  him,  he  was  overtaken  by  pirates  who 
robbed  him  of  all  he  possessed.  Again  Paul  returned 
home  disappointed,  though  not  discouraged.  Once 
more  he  applied  for  assistance  to  his  brother  David 
and  another  boat  was  built.  After  securing  a  cargo, 
he  met  again  with  pirates,  but  he  eluded  them  though 
he  was  compelled  to  return  and  repair  his  boat.  These 
having  been  made,  he  began  a  successful  career  along 
the  coast  as  far  north  as  Newfoundland,  to  the  south 
as  far  as  Savannah  and  as  distant  as  Gottenburg. 


Paul  Cufe  171 

In  carrying  on  this  business,  starting  in  the  small 
way  indicated,  he  owned  at  different  times  besides 
smaller  boats,  "The  Ranger,"  a  schooner  of  sixty  or 
seventy  tons,  a  half  interest  in  a  brig  of  162  tons,  the 
brig  "Traveller,'^  of  109  tons,  the  ship  "Alpha,"  of  268 
tons  and  three-fourths  interest  in  a  larger  vessel. 

A  few  noble  incidents  may  illustrate  his  resourceful- 
ness, difficulties  and  success  over  all  obstacles.  When 
engaged  in  the  whaling  business  he  was  found  with  less 
than  the  customary  outfit  for  effectually  carrying  on 
this  work.  The  practice  in  such  cases  was  for  the  other 
ships  to  loan  the  number  of  men  needed.  They  denied 
this  at  first  to  Cuffe,  but  fair  play  prevailed  and  they 
gave  him  what  was  customary,  with  the  result  that  of 
the  seven  whales  captured,  PauFs  men  secured  five, 
and  two  of  them  fell  by  his  own  hand! 

In  1795  he  took  a  cargo  to  Norfolk,  Virginia,  and 
learning  that  corn  could  be  bought  at  a  decided  ad- 
vantage, he  made  a  trip  to  the  Nanticoke  River,  on  the 
eastern  shore  of  Maryland.  Here  his  appearance  as 
a  black  man  commanding  his  own  boat  and  with  a 
crew  of  seven  men  all  of  his  own  complexion,  alarmed 
the  whites,  who  seemed  to  dread  his  presence  there  as 
the  signal  for  a  revolt  on  the  part  of  their  slaves.  They 
opposed  his  landing,  but  the  examination  of  his  papers 
removed  all  doubts  as  to  the  regularity  of  his  business, 
while  his  quiet  dignity  secured  the  respect  of  the  lead- 
ing white  citizens.    He  had  no  difficulty  after  this  in 


172  The  Upward  Path 

taking  a  cargo  of  three  thousand  bushels  of  corn,  from 
which  he  realized  a  profit  of  $1000.  On  a  second  voyage 
he  was  equally  successful. 

Although  without  the  privilege  of  attending  a  school 
when  a  boy,  he  endeavored  to  have  his  friends  and 
neighbors  open  and  maintain  one  for  the  colored  and 
Indian  children  of  the  vicinity.  Failing  to  secure  their 
active  cooperation,  he  built  in  1797  a  schoolhouse 
without  their  aid. 

Because  of  his  independent  means  and  his  skill  as  a 
mariner,  he  visited  with  little  or  no  difficulty  most  of 
the  larger  cities  of  the  country,  held  frequent  confer- 
ences with  the  representative  men  of  his  race,  and 
recommended  the  formation  of  societies  for  their  mu- 
tual relief  and  physical  betterment.  Such  societies  he 
formed  in  Philadelphia  and  New  York,  and  then  having 
made  ample  preparation  he  sailed  in  1811  for  Africa 
in  his  brig  "The  Traveller,'^  reaching  Sierra  Leone  on 
the  West  Coast  after  a  voyage  of  about  two  months. 

Here  he  organized  the  Friendly  Society  of  Sierra 
Leone  and  then  went  to  Liverpool.  Even  here  one  of 
his  characteristic  traits  manifested  itself  in  taking 
with  him  to  England  for  education  a  native  of  Sierra 
Leone. 

While  in  England,  Cuffe  visited  London  twice  and 
consulted  such  friends  of  the  Negro  as  Granville  Sharp, 
Thomas  Clarkson  and  William  Wilberforce!  These 
men  were  all  interested  in  a  proposition  to  promote 


Paul  Cuffe  173 

the  settlement  on  the  West  Coast  of  Africa  of  the  free 
people  of  color  in  America,  many  of  whom  had  come 
into  the  domains  of  Great  Britain  as  an  outcome  of 
the  Revolutionary  War.  This  opinion  was  at  this 
period  the  prevailing,  sentiment  of  England  respecting 
what  was  best  for  the  Negro.  Sir  J.  J.  Crooks,  a  for- 
mer governor  of  Sierra  Leone,  in  alluding  to  its  origin, 
says:  "There  is  no  doubt  that  the  influence  of  their 
opinion  was  felt  in  America  and  that  it  led  to  emigra- 
tion thence  to  Africa  before  Liberia  was  settled.  Paul 
CufPe,  a  man  of  color  .  .  .  who  was  much  interested 
in  the  promotion  of  the  civil  and  religious  liberty  of 
his  colored  brethren  in  their  native  land,  had  been 
familiar  with  the  ideas  of  these  philanthropists,  as  well 
as  with  the  movement  in  the  same  direction  in  Eng- 
land."^ 

This  explains  Cuffe's  visit  to  England  and  to  Africa 
—  a  daring  venture  in  those  perilous  days  —  and  the 
formation  of  the  Friendly  Societies  in  Africa  and  in 
his  own  country,  the  United  States. 

When  his  special  mission  to  England  was  concluded, 
he  took  out  a  cargo  from  Liverpool  for  Sierra  Leone, 
after  which  he  returned  to  America. 

Before  he  made  his  next  move,  Cuffe  consulted 
with  the  British  Government  in  London  and  President 
Madison  at  Washington.  But  the  strained  relations 
between  the  two  nations,  as  well  as  the  financial  con- 

*  History  of  Sierra  Leone,  Dublin,  1903,  p.  97 


174  The  Upward  Path 

dition  of  the  United  States  at  the  time,  made  govern- 
mental cooperation  impracticable  if  not  impossible. 

In  1815  he  carried  out  the  ideas  long  in  his  mind. 
In  this  year  he  sailed  from  Boston  for  Sierra  Leone 
with  thirty-eight  free  Negroes  as  settlers  on  the  Black 
Continent.  Only  eight  of  these  could  pay  their  own 
expenses,  but  Cuife,  nevertheless,  took  out  the  entire 
party,  landed  them  safe  on  the  soil  of  their  fore- 
fathers after  a  journey  of  fifty-five  days  and  paid  the 
expense  for  the  outfit,  transportation  and  maintenance 
of  the  remaining  thirty,  amounting  to  no  less  than 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars  ($25,000),  out  of  his  own 
pocket.  The  colonists  were  cordially  welcomed  by  the 
people  of  Sierra  Leone,  and  each  family  received  from 
thirty  to  forty  acres  from  the  Crown  Government.  He 
remained  with  the  settlers  two  months  and  then  re- 
turned home  with  the  purpose  of  taking  out  another 
colony.  Before,  however,  he  could  do  so,  and  while 
preparations  were  being  made  for  the  second  colony,  he 
was  taken  ill.  After  a  protracted  illness  he  died  Sep- 
tember 7,  1817,  in  the  fifty-ninth  year  of  his  age.  At 
the  time  of  his  death  he  had  no  less  than  two  thousand 
names  of  intending  emigrants  on  his  list  awaiting 
transportation  to  Africa. 

As  to  his  personal  characteristics:  Paul  Cuffe  was 
"tall,  well-formed  and  athletic,  his  deportment  con- 
ciliating yet  dignified  and  prepossessing.  He  was  a 
member  of  the  Society  of  Friends  (Quakers)  and  be- 


The  Black  Fairy  175 

came  a  minister  among  them.  .  .  .  He  believed  it  to 
be  his  duty  to  sacrifice  private  interest,  rather  than  en- 
gage in  any  enterprise,  however  lawful  ...  or  however 
profitable,  that  had  the  slightest  tendency  to  injure 
his  fellow  man.  He  would  not  deal  in  intoxicating 
liquors  or  in  slaves." 


THE   BLACK   FAIRY 

FENTON    JOHNSON 

Little  Annabelle  was  lying  on  the  lawn,  a  volume  of 
Grimm  before  her.  Annabelle  was  nine  years  of  age,  the 
daughter  of  a  colored  lawyer,  and  the  prettiest  dark 
child  in  the  village.  She  had  long  played  in  the  fairy- 
land of  knowledge,  and  was  far  advanced  for  one  of  her 
years.  A  vivid  imagination  was  her  chief  endowment, 
and  her  story  creatures  often  became  real  flesh-and- 
blood  creatures. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said  to  herself  that  afternoon,  ''if 
there  is  any  such  thing  as  a  colored  fairy?  Surely 
there  must  be,  but  in  this  book  theyVe  all  white." 

Closing  the  book,  her  eyes  rested  upon  the  landscape 
that  rolled  itself  out  lazily  before  her.  The  stalks  in 
the  cornfield  bent  and  swayed,  their  tassels  bowing  to 
the  breeze,  until  Annabelle  could  have  easily  sworn 
that  those  were  Indian  fairies.    And  beyond  lay  the 


176  The  Upward  Path 

woods,  dark  and  mossy  and  cool,  and  there  many  a 
something  mysterious  could  have  sprung  into  being, 
for  in  the  recess  was  a  silvery  pool  where  the  children 
played  barefooted.  A  summer  mist  like  a  thin  veil 
hung  over  the  scene,  and  the  breeze  whispered  tales  of 
far-away  lands. 

Hist !  Something  stirred  in  the  hazel  bush  near  her. 
Can  I  describe  little  Annabelle's  amazement  at  finding 
in  the  bush  a  palace  and  a  tall  and  dark-faced  fairy 
before  it? 

"I  am  Amunophis,  the  Lily  of  Ethiopia,"  said  the 
strange  creature.  "And  I  come  to  the  children  of  the 
Seventh  Veil." 

She  was  black  and  regal,  and  her  voice  was  soft  and 
low  and  gentle  like  the  Niger  on  a  summer  evening. 
Her  dress  was  the  wing  of  the  sacred  beetle,  and  when- 
ever the  wind  stirred  it  played  the  dreamiest  of  music. 
Her  feet  were  bound  with  golden  sandals,  and  on  her 
head  was  a  crown  of  lotus  leaves. 

"And  you're  a  fairy?"  gasped  Annabelle. 

"Yes,  I  am  a  fairy,  just  as  you  wished  me  to  be. 
I  live  in  the  tall  grass  many,  many  miles  away,  where 
a  beautiful  river  called  the  Niger  sleeps."  And  stretch- 
ing herself  beside  Annabelle,  on  the  lawn,  the  fairy 
began  to  whisper: 

"I  have  lived  there  for  over  five  thousand  years.  In 
the  long  ago  a  city  rested  there,  and  from  that  spot 
black  men  and  women  ruled  the  world.    Great  ships  la- 


The  Black  Fairy 


177 


178  The  Upward  Path 

den  with  spice  and  oil  and  wheat  would  come  to  its 
port,  and  would  leave  with  wines  and  weapons  of  war 
and  fine  linens.  Proud  and  great  were  the  black  kings 
of  this  land,  their  palaces  were  built  of  gold,  and  I  was 
the  Guardian  of  the  City.  But  one  night  when  I  was 
visiting  an  Indian  grove  the  barbarians  from  the  North 
came  down  and  destroyed  our  shrines  and  palaces  and 
took  our  people  up  to  Egypt.  Oh,  it  was  desolate,  and 
I  shed  many  tears,  for  I  missed  the  busy  hum  of  the 
market  and  the  merry  voices  of  the  children. 

"But  come  with  me,  little  Annabelle,  I  will  show 
you  all  this,  the  rich  past  of  the  Ethiopian." 

She  bade  the  little  girl  take  hold  of  her  hand  and 
close  her  eyes,  and  wish  herself  in  the  wood  behind  the 
cornfield.  Annabelle  obeyed,  and  ere  they  knew  it 
they  were  sitting  beside  the  clear  water  in  the  pond. 

"You  should  see  the  Niger,"  said  the  fairy.  "It  is 
still  beautiful,  but  not  as  happy  as  in  the  old  days. 
The  white  man's  foot  has  been  cooled  by  its  water, 
and  the  white  man's  blossom  is  choking  out  the  native 
flower."  And  she  dropped  a  tear  so  beautiful  the  cost- 
liest pearl  would  seem  worthless  beside  it. 

"Ah !  I  did  not  come  to  weep,"  she  continued,  "but 
to  show  you  the  past." 

So  in  a  voice  sweet  and  sad  she  sang  an  old  African 
lullaby  and  dropped  into  the  water  a  lotus  leaf.  A 
strange  mist  formed,  and  when  it  had  disappeared  she 
bade  the  little  girl  to  look  into  the  pool.    Creeping  up 


The  Black  Fairy  179 

Annabelle  peered  into  the  glassy  surface,  and  beheld 
a  series  of  vividly  colored  pictures. 

First  she  saw  dark  blacksmiths  hammering  in  the 
primeval  forests  and  giving  fire  and  iron  to  all  the 
world.  Then  she  saw  the  gold  of  old  Ghana  and  the 
bronzes  of  Benin.  Then  the  black  Ethiopians  poured 
down  upon  Egypt  and  the  lands  and  cities  bowed  and 
flamed.  Next  she  saw  a  great  city  with  pyramids  and 
stately  temples.  It  was  night,  and  a  crimson  moon  was 
in  the  sky.  Red  wine  was  flowing  freely,  and  beautiful 
dusky  maidens  were  dancing  in  a  grove  of  palms.  Old 
and  young  were  intoxicated  with  the  joy  of  living,  and 
a  sense  of  superiority  could  be  easily  traced  in  their 
faces  and  attitude.  Presently  red  flame  hissed  every- 
where, and  the  magnificence  of  remote  ages  soon 
crumbled  into  ash  and  dust.  Persian  soldiers  ran  to 
and  fro  conquering  the  band  of  defenders  and  severing 
the  woman  and  children.  Then  came  the  Moham- 
medans and  kingdom  on  kingdom  arose,  and  with  the 
splendor  came  ever  more  slavery. 

The  next  picture  was  that  of  a  group  of  fugitive 
slaves,  forming  the  nucleus  of  three  tribes,  hurrying 
back  to  the  wilderness  of  their  fathers. 

In  houses  built  as  protection  against  the  heat  the 
blacks  dwelt,  communing  with  the  beauty  of  water  and 
sky  and  open  air.  It  was  just  between  twilight  and 
evening  and  their  minstrels  were  chanting  impromptu 
hymns  to  their  gods  of  nature.    And  as  she  listened 


180  The  Upward  Path 

closely,  Annabelle  thought  she  caught  traces  of  the 
sorrow  songs  in  the  weird  pathetic  strains  of  the  Afri- 
can music  mongers.  From  the  East  the  warriors  of 
the  tribe  came,  bringing  prisoners,  whom  they  sold  to 
white  strangers  from  the  West. 

"It  is  the  beginning,"  whispered  the  fairy,  as  a  large 
Dutch  vessel  sailed  westward.  Twenty  boys  and  girls 
bound  with  strong  ropes  were  given  to  a  miserable 
existence  in  the  hatchway  of  the  boat.  Their  captors 
were  strange  creatures,  pale  and  yellow  haired,  who 
were  destined  to  sell  them  as  slaves  in  a  country  cold 
and  wild,  where  the  palm  trees  and  the  cocoanut  never 
grew  and  men  spoke  a  language  without  music.  A 
light,  airy  creature,  like  an  ancient  goddess,  flew  before 
the  craft  guiding  it  in  its  course. 

"That  is  I,"  said  the  fairy.  "In  that  picture  I  am 
bringing  your  ancestors  to  America.  It  was  my  hope 
that  in  the  new  civilization  I  could  build  a  race  that 
would  be  strong  enough  to  redeem  their  brothers.  They 
have  gone  through  great  tribulations  and  trials,  and 
have  mingled  with  the  blood  of  the  fairer  race;  yet 
though  not  entirely  Ethiopian  they  have  not  lost  their 
identity.  Prejudice  is  a  furnace  through  which  molten 
gold  is  poured.  Heaven  be  merciful  unto  all  races! 
There  is  one  more  picture  —  the  greatest  of  all,  but  — 
farewell,  little  one,  I  am  going." 

"Going?"  cried  Annabelle.  "Going?  I  want  to  see 
the  last  picture  —  and  when  will  you  return,  fairy?" 


If 8  a  Long  Way  181 

"When  the  race  has  been  redeemed.  When  the 
brotherhood  of  man  has  come  into  the  world;  and 
there  is  no  longer  a  white  civilization  or  a  black  civili- 
zation, but  the  civilization  of  all  men.  I  belong  to  the 
world  council  of  the  fairies,  and  we  are  all  colors  and 
kinds.  Why  should  not  men  be  as  charitable  unto  one 
another?  When  that  glorious  time  comes  I  shall  walk 
among  you  and  be  one  of  you,  performing  my  deeds 
of  magic  and  playing  with  the  children  of  every  nation, 
race  and  tribe.  Then,  Annabelle,  you  shall  see  the  last 
picture  —  and  the  best." 

Slowly  she  disappeared  like  a  summer  mist,  leaving 
Annabelle  amazed. 


IT'S  A   LONG   WAY 

WILLIAM  STANLEY  BRAITHWAITE 

It's  a  long  way  the  sea-winds  blow 
Over  the  sea-plains  blue,  — 

But  longer  far  has  my  heart  to  go 
Before  its  dreams  come  true. 

It's  work  we  must,  and  love  we  must, 
And  do  the  best  we  may. 

And  take  the  hope  of  dreams  in  trust 
To  keep  us  day  by  day. 


182  The  Upward  Path 

It's  a  long  way  the  sea- winds  blow  — 
But  somewhere  lies  a  shore  — 

Thus  down  the  tide  of  Time  shall  flow 
My  dreams  forevermore. 


NEGRO  MUSIC  THAT   STIRRED  FRANCE 

EMMETT  J.  SCOTT 

"You  cannot  defeat  a  singing  nation,"  a  keen-witted 
observer  has  said,  in  noting  the  victory  spirit  engen- 
dered by  the  martial  music,  the  patriotic  songs  and 
the  stirring  melodies  of  hearth  and  home  that  have 
moved  the  souls  of  men  to  action  on  all  the  battle- 
fields of  history. 

"Send  me  more  singing  regiments,"  cabled  General 
Pershing,  and  Admiral  Mayo  sent  frequent  requests 
that  a  song  leader  organize  singing  on  every  battleship 
of  the  Atlantic  Fleet. 

Since  "the  morning  stars  sang  together"  in  Scrip- 
tural narrative,  music  has  exerted  a  profound  influence 
upon  mankind,  be  it  in  peace  or  in  war,  in  gladness  or 
in  sorrow,  or  in  the  tender  sentiment  that  makes  for 
love  of  country,  affection  for  kindred  or  the  divine 
passion  for  "ye  ladye  fair."  Music  knows  no  land  or 
clime,  no  season  or  circumstance,  and  no  race,  creed 
or  clan.     It  speaks  the  language  universal,  and  ap- 


Negro  Music  that  Stirred  France        183 

peals  to  all  peoples  with  a  force  irresistible  and  no 
training  in  ethics  or  science  is  necessary  to  reach  the 
common  ground  that  its  philosophy  instinctively 
creates  in  the  human  understanding. 

The  War  Department  was  conscious  of  this  and  gave 
practical  application  to  its  theory  that  music  makes 
a  soldier  "fit  to  fight"  when  it  instituted,  through  the 
Commission  on  Training  Camp  Activities,  a  sys- 
tematic program  of  musical  instruction  throughout  the 
American  Army  at  the  home  cantonments  and  fol- 
lowed up  the  work  overseas.  It  was  the  belief  that 
every  man  became  a  better  warrior  for  freedom  when 
his  mind  could  be  diverted  from  the  dull  routine  of 
camp  life  by  arousing  his  higher  nature  by  song,  and 
that  he  fared  forth  to  battle  with  a  stouter  heart  when 
his  steps  were  attuned  to  the  march  by  bands  that 
drove  out  all  fear  of  bodily  danger  and  robbed  "grim- 
visaged  war"  of  its  terrors.  Skilled  song  leaders  were 
detailed  to  the  various  camps  and  cantonments  here 
and  abroad,  and  bands  galore  were  brought  into  serv- 
ice for  inspiration  and  cheer. 

The  emotional  nature  of  the  Negro  fitted  him  for 
this  musical  program.  The  colored  American  was  a 
"close  up"  in  every  picture  from  the  start  to  the  finish 
and  was  a  conspicuous  figure  in  every  scenario,  play- 
ing with  credit  and  distinction  alike  in  melody  or  with 
the  musket. 

No  instrumentality  was  more  potent  than  music  in 


184  The  Upward  Path 

off-setting  the  propaganda  of  the  wily  German  agents, 
who  sought  to  break  down  the  loyalty  of  the  Negro. 
The  music  he  knew  was  intensely  American  —  in  sen- 
timent and  rhythm.  It  saturated  his  being  —  and  all 
the  blandishments  of  the  enemy  were  powerless  to 
sway  him  from  the  flag  he  loved.  His  grievances  were 
overshadowed  by  the  realization  that  the  welfare  of 
the  nation  was  menaced  and  that  his  help  was  needed. 
American  music  harmonized  with  the  innate  patriotism 
of  the  race,  and  the  majestic  sweep  of  ^The  Star- 
Spangled  Banner"  or  the  sympathetic  appeal  of  "My 
Country,  'Tis  of  Thee/'  were  sufficient  to  counteract 
the  sinister  efforts  of  the  missionaries  of  the  Hohen- 
zollerns  to  move  him  from  his  moorings. 

No  labor  is  ever  so  onerous  that  it  can  bar  music 
from  the  soul  of  black  folk.  This  race  sings  at  work, 
at  play  and  in  every  mood.  Visitors  to  any  army  camp 
found  the  Negro  doing  musical  "stunts"  of  some  kind 
from  reveille  to  taps  —  every  hour,  every  minute  of 
the  day.  All  the  time  the  trumpeters  were  not  blowing 
out  actual  routine  bugle  calls,  they  were  somewhere 
practicing  them.  Mouth-organs  were  going,  concer- 
tinas were  being  drawn  back  and  forth,  and  guitars, 
banjos,  mandolins  and  whatnot  were  in  use  —  playing 
all  varieties  of  music,  from  the  classic,  like  "Lucia," 
"Poet  and  Peasant,"  and  "II  Trovatore"  to  the  folk- 
songs and  the  rollicking  "Jazz."  Music  is  indeed  the 
chiefest  outlet  of  the  Negro's  emotions,  and  the  state 


Negro  Music  that  Stirred  France        185 

of  his  soul  can  best  be  determined  by  the  type  of 
melody  he  pours  forth. 

Some  writer  has  said  that  a  handful  of  pipers  at  the 
head  of  a  Scotch  regiment  could  lead  that  regiment 
down  the  mouth  of  a  cannon.  It  is  not  doubted  that 
a  Negro  regiment  could  be  made  to  duplicate  the 
"Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade"  at  Balaklava  —  "into 
the  mouth  of  hell/'  as  Tennyson  puts  it  —  if  one  of 
their  regimental  bands  should  play  —  as  none  but  a 
colored  band  can  play  —  the  vivacious  strains  of 
"There'll  Be  a  Hot  Time  in  the  Old  Town  Tonight." 

The  Negro's  love  of  home  is  an  integral  part  of  his 
nature,  and  is  exemplified  in  the  themes  he  plaintively 
crooned  in  camp  on  both  sides  of  the  ocean.  Such 
melodies  as  "Carry  Me  Back  to  Old  Virginia,"  "My 
Old  Kentucky  Home,"  "In  the  Evening  by  de  Moon- 
light," and  "Swanee  River"  recalled  memories  of  the 
"old  folks  at  home,"  and  kept  his  patriotism  alive,  for 
he  hoped  to  return  to  them  some  day  and  swell  their 
hearts  with  pride  by  reason  of  the  glorious  record  he 
made  at  the  front. 

The  Negro  is  essentially  religious,  and  his  deep  spirit- 
ual temperament  is  vividly  illustrated  by  the  joy  he 
finds  in  "harmonizing"  such  ballads  of  ancient  days 
as  "Swing  Low,  Sweet  Chariot,"  "Steal  Away  to  Jesus," 
"Standin'  in  the  Need  of  Prayer,"  "Every  Time  I  Feel 
the  Spirit,"  "I  Wan'  to  be  Ready,"  and  "Roll,  Jordan, 
Roll."    The  Negro  is  also  an  optimist,  whether  he  styles 


186  The  Upward  Path 

himself  by  that  high-sounding  title  or-  not,  and  the 
sincerity  of  his  ''make  the  best  of  it"  disposition  is 
noted  in  the  fervor  he  puts  into  those  uplifting  gems, 
"Pack  Up  Your  Troubles  in  Your  Old  Kit  Bag  and 
Smile,  Smile,  Smile,"  ''There's  a  Long,  Long  Trail," 
"Keep  the  Home  Fires  Burning,"  and  "Good-bye 
Broadway,  Hello  France." 

Just  as  the  Negro  folk-songs  —  or  songs  of  war,  in- 
terpreted with  the  characteristic  Negro  flavor  —  stirred 
all  France  and  gave  poilu  and  populace  a  taste  of  the 
real  American  music,  the  marvelous  "jazz  bands"  kept 
their  feet  patting  and  their  shoulders  "eagle-rocking" 
to  its  infectious  motion.  High  officials  are  said  to  have 
been  literally  "carried  away"  with  the  "jazz"  music 
furnished  by  the  colored  bands  "over  there"  during  the 
war.  General  Petain  is  said  to  have  paid  a  visit,  at 
the  height  of  the  hostilities,  to  a  sector  in  which  there 
were  American  troops  and  had  "the  time  of  his  life" 
listening  to  a  colored  band  playing  the  entrancing 
"jazz"  music,  with  some  Negro  dance  stunts  in  keeping 
with  the  spirit  of  the  melodies.  He  warmly  congratu- 
lated the  colored  leader  upon  the  excellence  of  the 
work  of  his  organization,  and  thanked  him  for  the  en- 
joyable entertainment  that  had  been  given  him. 

The  stolid  Briton  is  scarcely  less  susceptible  to  the 
"jazz"  than  his  volatile  French  brother,  for  when  an- 
other colored  band  from  "The  States"  went  to  London 
to  head  a  parade  of  American  and  English  soldiers^  and 


November  11,  1918  187 

halted  at  Buckingham  Palace,  it  is  said  that  King 
George  V  and  Queen  Mary  heard  the  lively  airs  with 
undisguised  enthusiasm  and  were  loath  to  have  the 
players  depart  for  the  park  where  they  were  scheduled 
for  a  concert,  with  a  dance  engagement,  under  British 
military  control,  to  follow.  The  colored  bands  scored 
heavily  with  the  three  great  Allied  Powers  of  Europe 
by  rendering  with  a  brilliant  touch  and  matchless 
finish  their  national  anthems,  "God  Save  the  Queen,^' 
"La  Marseillaise"  and  the  "Marcia  Reale." 


NOVEMBER   11,    1918 

(This  letter  was  written  by  a  young  first  lieutenant 

(colored)    in    the    366th    Infantry,    Company 

L,  92nd  Division,  Cleveland,  Ohio.) 

November  11th. 
My  dearest  Mother  and  Dad : 

Well,  folks,  it's  all  over  but  the  flowers.  Yesterday 
it  was  war,  hard,  gruelling,  hideous.    Today  it  is  peace. 

This  morning  I  formed  my  platoon  in  line  in  the 
woods  behind  the  line.  They  didn't  know  why.  They 
were  just  a  bunch  of  tired,  hard-bitten,  mud-spattered, 
rough-and-tumble  soldiers  standing  stoically  at  atten- 
tion, equally  ready  to  go  over  the  top,  rebuild  a  shell- 
torn  road,  or  march  to  a  rest  billet.  At  10:45  I  gave  the 
command:   "Unload  rifles!"     They  didn't  know  why 


188  The  Upward  Path 

and  didn^t  particularly  care.  Then  —  ''Unload  pistols." 
And  while  they  still  stood  rigid  and  motionless  as 
graven  images,  I  read  the  order  declaring  armistice  and 
cessation  of  hostilities  effective  at  11  o'clock.  The  per- 
fect discipline  of  these  veteran  soldiers  held  them  still 
motionless,  but  I  could  see  their  eyes  begin  to  shine  and 
their  muscles  to  quiver  as  the  import  of  this  miraculous 
message  began  to  dawn  on  them. 

The  tension  was  fast  straining  their  nerves  to  the 
breaking-point,  so  I  dismissed  them.  You  should  have 
seen  them !  They  yelled  till  they  were  hoarse.  Some 
sang.  Others,  war-hardened  veterans,  who  had  faced 
the  death  hail  of  a  machine-gun  with  a  laugh,  men  who 
had  gone  through  the  horrors  of  artillery  bombard- 
ments and  had  seen  their  fellows  mangled  and  torn 
without  a  flinch,  broke  down  and  cried  like  babies. 

Tonight  something  is  wrong.  The  silence  is  al- 
most uncanny.  Not  a  shot  —  not  even  a  single  shell. 
Very  faintly  we  can  hear  the  mellow  tones  of  the  church 
bell  in  the  little  French  town  on  the  hill  far  to  our  rear. 
All  day  long  it  has  been  singing  its  song  of  joy  and 
thanksgiving.  It  seems  symbolical  of  the  heart  of 
France,  which,  today,  is  ringing. 

I  don't  know  when  I'm  coming  home,  but  when  I 
do,  I  want  a  big  roast  turkey,  golden  brown,  new  spuds 
swimming  in  butter  and  cranberry  sauce. 

Love, 

Jesse. 


Sea  Lyric  189 

SEA  LYRIC 

WILLIAM  STANLEY  BRAITHWAITE 

Over  the  seas  to-night,  love, 

Over  the  darksome  deeps, 
Over  the  seas  to-night,  love. 

Slowly  my  vessel  creeps. 

Over  the  seas  to-night,  love. 

Waking  the  sleeping  foam  — 
Sailing  away  from  thee,  love, 

Sailing  from  thee  and  home. 

Over  the  seas  to-night,  love. 

Dreaming  beneath  the  spars  — 
Till  in  my  dreams  you  shine,  love, 

Bright  as  the  listening  stars. 


190  The  Upward  Path 

A   NEGRO   WOMAN^S   HOSPITALITY 

LEILA  A.  PENDLETON 

Mungo  Park,  a  native  of  Scotland,  was  one  of  the 
first  of  noble,  brave  men  who  devoted  the  best  years 
of  their  lives  to  Africa.  In  1795,  when  he  was  only 
twenty-four  years  old,  he  went  to  West  Africa  to  find 
the  source  of  the  River  Niger.  One  of  the  drawbacks 
of  the  west  coast  is  its  deadly  climate,  and  shortly 
after  arriving  at  Kano  young  Park  fell  ill  of  fever  and 
remained  an  invalid  for  five,  months.  While  recover- 
ing, he  learned  the  language  of  the  Mandingoes,  a  na- 
tive tribe,  and  this  was  a  great  help  to  him. 

He  finally  started  with  only  six  natives  on  his  jour- 
ney. Had  he  been  older  and  wiser  he  would  have  taken 
a  larger  company.  At  one  time  they  were  captured  by 
Moors  and  a  wild  boar  was  turned  loose  upon  them, 
but  instead  of  attacking  Park  the  beast  turned  upon 
its  owners,  and  this  aroused  their  superstitious  fears. 
The  king  then  ordered  him  to  be  put  into  a  hut  where 
the  boar  was  tied  while  he  and  his  chief  officers  dis- 
cussed whether  Park  should  lose  his  right  hand,  his 
eyes  or  his  life.  But  he  escaped  from  them,  and  after 
nearly  two  years  of  wandering  in  search  of  the  Niger's 
source,  during  which  time  he  suffered  many  hardships 
and  had  many  narrow  escapes,  he  returned  to  Kano, 
the  place  where  he  had  been  iU. 


A  Negro  Woman's  Hospitality         191 

At  one  time  during  his  journey  Mr.  Park  arrived 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Sego,  and  as  a  white  man  had 
never  been  seen  in  that  region  before,  the  natives 
looked  upon  him  with  fear  and  astonishment.  He 
asked  to  see  the  king,  but  no  one  would  take  him  across 
the  river,  and  the  king  sent  word  that  he  would  by  no 
means  receive  the  strange  traveler  until  he  knew  what 
the  latter  wanted. 

Park  was  tired,  hungry,  and  discouraged  and  was 
preparing  to  spend  the  night  in  the  branches  of  a  tree 
when  a  native  woman  pitied  him.  She  invited  him 
into  her  hut,  and  with  the  hospitality  for  which  the 
natives  are  noted,  shared  with  him  her  food.  By 
signs  she  made  him  understand  that  he  might  occupy 
the  sleeping  mat  and  as  she  and  her  daughter  sat 
spinning  they  sang  their  native  songs,  among  them  the 
following,  which  was  impromptu  and  composed  in 
honor  of  the  stranger: 

The  wind  roared  and  the  rain  fell. 

The  poor  white  man,  faint  and  weary,  came  and  sat 

under  our  tree. 
He  has  no  mother  to  bring  him  milk;  no  wife  to  grind 

his  corn. 

CHORUS 

Let  us  pity  the  white  man; 

No  mother  has  he  to  bring  him  milk; 

No  wife  to  grind  his  corn. 


192  The  Upward  Path 

Speaking  of  this  incident,  Park  says:  'Trifling  as  this 
recital  may  appear  to  the  reader,  to  a  person  in  my 
situation  the  circumstance  was  affecting  in  the  high- 
est degree.  I  was  oppressed  by  such  unexpected  kind- 
ness and  sleep  fled  from  my  eyes."  And  another  writer 
says:  'The  name  of  the  woman  and  the  alabaster  box 
of  precious  ointment,  the  nameless  widow,  who,  giving 
only  two  mites,  had  given  more  than  all  the  rich,  and 
this  nameless  woman  of  Sego,  form  a  trio  of  feminine 
beauty  and  grandeur  of  which  the  sex  in  all  ages  may 
be  proud." 


RECORD   OF  "THE   OLD   FIFTEENTH" 
IN  FRANCE 

EMMETT   J.    SCOTT 

Early  in  September,  1918,  the  men  of  the  369th  In- 
fantry were  transferred  from  the  15th  French  Division, 
in  which  they  had  been  serving,  and  made  an  integral 
part  of  the  161st  French  Division.  And  then,  on  the 
morning  of  September  26th,  they  joined  with  the 
Moroccans  on  the  left  and  native  French  on  the  right 
in  the  offensive  which  won  for  the  entire  regiment  the 
French  Croix  de  Guerre  and  the  citation  of  171  indi- 
vidual officers  and  enlisted  men  for  the  Croix  de  Guerre 
and  the  Legion  of  Honor,  for  exceptional  gallantry  in 


Record  of  "The  Old  Fifteenth''  in  France     193 

action.  The  action  began  at  Maisons-en-Champagne  ; 
it  finished  seven  kilometers  northward  and  eastward, 
and  over  the  intervening  territory  the  Germans  had 
retreated  before  the  ferocious  attacks  of  the  Fifteenth 
and  its  French  comrades. 

A  month  later  a  new  honor  came  to  the  regiment  — 
the  honor  of  being  the  first  unit  of  all  the  Allied  armies 
to  reach  the  River  Rhine.  The  regiment  had  left  its 
trenches  at  Thann,  Sunday,  November  17,  and,  march- 
ing as  the  advance  guard  of  the  161st  Division, 
Second  French  Army,  reached  the  left  bank 
of  the  Rhine,  Monday,  November  18.  The  369th  is 
proud  of  this  achievement.  It  believes  also  that  it  was 
under  fire  for  a  greater  number  of  days  than  any  other 
American  regiment.    Its  historian  will  record: 

That  the  regiment  never  lost  a  man  captured,  a 
trench,  or  a  foot  of  ground;  that  it  was  the  only  unit 
in  the  American  Expeditionary  Force  which  bore  a 
State  name  and  carried  a  State  flag;  that  it  was  never 
in  an  American  brigade  or  division;  that  it  saw  the 
first  and  the  longest  service  of  any  American  regiment 
as  part  of  a  foreign  army ;  and  that  it  had  less  training 
than  any  American  unit  before  going  into  action. 


194  The  Upward  Path 

NEGRO   SOLDIERS 

ROSCOE    C.    JAMISON 

These  truly  are  the  Brave 

These  men  who  cast  aside 

Old  memories,  to  walk  the  blood-stained  pave 

Of  Sacrifice,  joining  the  solemn  tide 

That  moves  away,  to  suffer  and  to  die 

For  Freedom  —  when  their  own  is  yet  denied! 

0  Pride!    O  Prejudice!    When  they  pass  by, 

Hail  them,  the  Brave,  for  you  now  crucified! 

These  truly  are  the  Free, 

These  souls  that  grandly  rise 

Above  base  dreams  of  vengeance  for  their  wrongs, 

Who  march  to  war  with  visions  in  their  eyes 

Of  Peace  through  Brotherhood,  lifting  glad  songs 

Aforetime,  while  they  front  the  firing-line. 

Stand  and  behold!    They  take  the  field  today, 

Shedding  their  blood  like  Him  now  held  divine, 

That  those  who  mock  might  find  a  better  way! 


The  ''Devil  Bush''  and  the  ''Greegree  Bush''  195 


THE  "DEVIL  BUSH''  AND  THE 
"GREEGREE  BUSH" 


GEORGE    W.    ELLIS 

The  "Devil  Bush"  is  one  of  the  most  important 
social  institutions  of  the  Vais,  —  in  fact,  of  most  of  the 
tribes  in  Liberia.  It  is  a  secret  organization,  and  its 
operations  are  carried  on  in  an  unknown  place.  The 
penalty  for  divulging  its  secrets  is  said  to  be  death.  I 
know  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  ascertain  much  infor- 
mation regarding  it. 

The  aim  of  this  society  is  to  train  young  boys  for 
African  life.  The  boys  are 
taught  the  industrial  trades, 
native  warfare,  religious 
duties,  tribal  laws  and  cus- 
toms, and  the  social  arts. 

The  bow  and  arrow  may  be 
called  the  Vai  alphabet.  Every 
morning  the  small  boys  are 
taught  first  to  use  skilfully 
this  weapon.  In  addition  they 
are  taught  to  throw  the  spear 

and  to  wield  the  sword.  In  the  afternoon  they  are 
taken  on  a  hunt  for  small  game,  and  later  are  given 
practice  in  target  shooting  and  throwing  the  spear. 


196  The  Upward  Path 

After  supper  the  boys  take  up  singing  and  dancing. 
At  this  period  they  are  taught  also  their  duties  to 
the  gods,  to  whom  a  certain  portion  of  their  meals 
is  said  to  be  offered.  Each  boy  is  taught  the 
sacrificial  ceremony;  they  all  clap,  dance,  and  sing 
their  song  of  praise. 

When  the  boys  have  attained  a  certain  advance- 
ment among  other  things  they  have  sham  battles,  with 
200  or  150  boys  on  a  side.    A  district  is  given  to  one 

side  to  be  captured  by 
the  other.     Each   side 
has  a  captain,  and  at 
this  stage  of  their  de- 
velopment emphasis  is 
placed  upon  the  display 
And  sometimes  the  contests  assume  aspects 
When  one  side  repulses  another  six  times 
it  is  said  to  be  victorious. 

In  addition  to  being  taught  the  methods  of  war- 
fare, the  boys  are  taught  the  civil  and  military  laws 
governing  the  Vai  people.  Every  Vai  man  must  know 
the  law.  And  as  the  penalties  for  violating  the  laws 
covering  military  expeditions  are  so  severe,  the  cus- 
toms and  laws  relating  thereto  are  of  paramount  im- 
portance to  every  Vai  man. 

The  members  of  the  "Devil  Bush"  are  not  only 
taught  everything  pertaining  to  practical  war,  but  they 
a,re  taught  hunting  as  well.    They  are  first  taught  to 


of  bravery, 
of  reality. 


The  "Devil  Bush''  and  the  "Greegree  Bush"  197 

capture  small  game  and  later  the  larger  and  dangerous 
animals  like  the  leopard,  elephant,  and  buffalo.  What 
the  Africans  call  a  real  hunt  requires  about  a  month's 
work  in  preparation.  The  boys  dig  a  large  pit  ^nd  sur- 
round the  ends  and  sides  with  the  trunks  of  large  trees. 
With  the  pit  of  the  apex,  in  triangular  form,  two  fences 
are  built  about  a  mile  long,  and  with  a  mile  between 
the  two  extremities.  The  surrounding  country  is  en- 
circled by  the  hunters  and  the  animals  are  driven  into 
the  pit.  The  smaller  animals  are  eaten  and  the  larger 
ones  are  sent  to  the  king.  As  the  valuable  skins  are 
preserved,  the  boys  are  taught  to  skin  animals  neatly. 
The  ivories  belong  to  the  king,  and  various  small  horns 
are  kept  for  amulets,  and  so  on.  These  hunts  are  usu- 
ally accompanied  with  much  singing  and  dancing,  after 
the  cooking  and  eating  of  the  game. 

The  "Greegree  Bush''  is  a  society  for  the  training 
of  girls  for  future  life,  just  as  the  ''Devil 
Bush"  is  for  boys.  It  is  death  for  a  man 
to  be  found  within  the  limits  of  the 
"Greegee  Bush/'  no  matter  what  his 
purpose  may  be.  The  sessions  of  the 
society  are  held  near  some  town,  yet  few 
in  that  town  know  the  exact  place.  No 
one  is  permitted  to  approach  the  scene. 

Usually  girls  are  admitted  at  seven  or  eight  years 
of  age,  although  women  may  be  admitted. 

The  "Greegree  Bush"  has  both  an  industrial  and 


198 


The  Upward  Path 


an  educational  purpose.  The  girls  are  taught  to  em- 
broider with  gold  and  silver  thread  the  tunics  and  togas 
of  kings  and  chiefs.  Some  of  them  become  very  ar- 
tistic in  working  palm-trees,  golden  elephants,  moons, 
half -moons,  running  vines,  and  other  objects  and 
scenes  of  nature  in  various  articles  of  apparel. 

The  girls  are  taught  hair-dressing  in 
order  that  they  may  plait,  beside  their 
own,  the  hair  of  the  richer  Vais,  some 
of  whom  have  their  hair  oiled  and 
plaited  two  or  three  times  a  week. 

Instruction  is  given  in  cutting  in- 
scriptions on  shields,  breastplates,  and 
the  like,  and  in  housekeeping,  singing, 
dancing,  farming,  sewing,  weaving  cot- 
ton, dyeing,  making  nets  and  mats  and  many  other 
articles  of  domestic  utility,  decoration,  and  dress.  I 
have  seen  Vai  women  making  some  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful fancy  baskets  of  various  kinds  to  be  found  along 
the  coast. 


Evening  Prayer  199 

EVENING   PRAYER 

H.  CORDELIA  RAY 

Father  of  Love! 
We  leave  our  souls  with  Thee! 
Oh !  may  Thy  Holy  Spirit  to  us  be 

A  peaceful  Dove! 

Now  when  day's  strife 
And  bitterness  are  o'er, 
Oh!  in  our  hearts  all  bruised  gently  pour 

The  dew  of  life. 

So  as  the  rose  — 
Though  fading  on  the  stem  — 
Awakes  to  blush  when  morning's  lustrous  gem 

Upon  it  glows;  — 

May  we  awake, 
Soothed  by  Thy  priceless  balm, 
To  chant  with  grateful  hearts  our  morning  psalm, 

And  blessings  take. 

Or  let  it  be, 
That  where  the  palm  trees  rise. 
And  crystal  streams  flow,  we  uplift  our  eyes 

ToThee!— to  Thee!- 


200  The  Upward  Path 


THE   STRENUOUS   LIFE 

SILAS    X.    FLOYD 

They  were  having  a  rough-and-tumble  time  of  it 
and  Pansy  was  getting  some  pretty  hard  blows.  She 
took  them  all  good-naturedly,  nevertheless,  and  tried 
to  give  as  good  as  she  received,  much  to  the  delight 
of  her  little  boy  friends.  A  lady  who  was  standing 
near,  afraid  for  the  little  girl,  chided  the  boys  and 
said: 

"You  shouldn't  handle  Pansy  so  roughly  —  you 
might  hurt  her." 

And  then  Pansy  looked  up  in  sweet  surprise  and 
said  with  amusing  seriousness: 

"No ;  they  won't  hurt  me.    I  don't  break  easy." 

It  was  a  thoroughly  childlike  expression,  but  it  had 
more  wisdom  in  it  than  Pansy  knew.  She  spoke  of  a 
little  girl's  experience  with  dolls,  some  of  which,  as  she 
had  learned,  broke  very  easily.  Pansy  knew  how  de- 
lightful it  was  to  have  a  doll  that  didn't  break  so 
easily.  Though  she  was  not  a  homely  girl  by  any 
means,  yet  she  wanted  it  understood  that  she  was  not 
like  a  piece  of  china.  That  was  why  the  other  chil- 
dren liked  her  so  much  —  because  she  knew  how  to 
rough  it  without  crying  or  complaining  at  every  turn. 
Pansy  was  not  a  cry-baby. 


The  Strenuous  Life  201 

There  is  all  the  time,  my  dear  boys  and  girls,  a  great 
demand  everywhere  all  through  life  for  people  who 
don't  break  easily  —  people  who  know  how  to  take 
hard  knocks  without  going  all  to  pieces.  The  game  of 
life  is  sometimes  rough,  even  among  those  who  mean 
to  play  fair.  It  is  very  trying  when  we  have  to  deal 
with  people  who  break  easily,  and  are  always  getting 
hurt  and  spoiling  the  game  with  their  tears  and  com- 
plaints. It  is  so  much  better  when  we  have  to  deal 
with  people  who,  like  little  Pansy,  do  not  break  easily. 
Some  of  them  will  laugh  off  the  hardest  words  without 
wincing  at  all.  You  can  jostle  them  as  you  will,  but 
they  don't  fall  down  every  time  you  shove  them,  and 
they  don't  cry  every  time  they  are  pushed  aside.  You 
can't  but  like  them,  they  take  life  so  heartily  and  so 
sensibly.  You  don't  have  to  hold  yourself  in  with 
them  all  the  time.  You  can  let  yourself  out  freely 
without  being  on  pins  as  to  the  result.  Young  people 
of  this  class  make  good  playmates  or  good  work-fellows, 
as  the  case  may  be. 

So,  boys  and  girls,  you  must  learn  to  rough  it  a  little. 
Don't  be  a  china  doll,  going  to  smash  at  every  hard 
knock.  If  you  get  hard  blows  take  them  cheerily  and 
as  easily  as  you  can.  Even  if  some  blow  comes  when 
you  least  expect  it,  and  knocks  you  off  your  feet  for  a 
minute,  don't  let  it  floor  you  long.  Everybody  likes 
the  fellow  who  can  get  up  when  he  is  knocked  down 
and  blink  the  tears  away  and  pitch  in  again.    Learning 


202  The  Upward  Path 

to  get  yourself  accustomed  to  a  little  hard  treatment 
will  be  good  for  you.  Hard  words  and  hard  fortune 
often  make  us  —  if  we  don't  let  them  break  us.  Stand 
up  to  your  work  or  play  courageously,  and  when  you 
hear  words  that  hurt,  when  you  are  hit  hard  with  the 
blunders  or  misdeeds  of  others,  when  life  goes  roughly 
with  you,  keep  right  on  in  a  happy,  companionable, 
courageous,  helpful  spirit,  and  let  the  world  know 
that  you  don't  break  easily. 


O  LITTLE  DAVID,  PLAY  ON  YOUR  HARP 

JOSEPH    S.    COTTER,   JR. 

0  Little  David,  play  on  your  harp. 

That  ivory  harp  with  the  golden  strings; 

And  sing  as  you  did  in  Jewry  land. 

Of  the  Prince  of  Peace  and  the  God  of  Love 

And  the  Coming  Christ  Immanuel. 

O  Little  David,  play  on  your  harp. 

O  Little  David,  play  on  your  harp. 
That  ivory  harp  with  the  golden  strings  ; 
And  psalm  anew  your  songs  of  Peace, 
Of  the  soothing  calm  of  a  Brotherly  Love, 
And  the  saving  grace  of  a  Mighty  God. 
O  Little  David,  play  on  your  harp. 


A  Day  at  Kalk  Bay,  South  Africa      203 
A   DAY   AT   KALK   BAY,   SOUTH   AFRICA 

L.    J.    COPPIN 

Summer  in  Cape  Town  begins  with  November  and 
lasts  until  March.  This  may  seem  strange  to  those 
living  in  North  America,  but  a  moment's  reflection  will 
suffice  to  remind  them  that  during  these  months  the 
sun  is  south  of  the  equator,  hence  this  natural  result. 
The  strong  southeast  winds,  which  are  prevalent  dur- 
ing the  summer  months,  often  make  it  very  unpleas- 
ant in  Cape  Town  on  account  of  the  dust,  and  one  finds 
it  most  desirable  occasionally  to  run  out  to  one  of  the 
suburbs  where  "Cape  Doctor"  does  not  make  such 
frequent  and  violent  visits. 

Of  the  chain  of  beautiful  and  pleasant  suburban 
towns  following  the  railway  north,  the  most  important 
as  a  summer  resort,  is  Kalk  Bay.  One  who  has  visited 
the  beach  at  Newport,  R.  L,  in  the  United  States,  will, 
upon  visiting  Kalk  Bay,  see  a  resemblance.  Unlike 
the  long  sweep  of  ocean  at  Atlantic  City,  the  beach  is 
narrow,  being  rather  a  bay  than  an  open  ocean  front. 
Instead  of  the  cliffs  as  at  Newport,  we  have  the  massive 
mountains  standing  almost  perpendicularly  on  the  east 
side,  at  the  foot  of  which  the  town  is  situated. 

The  principal  vocation  among  the  laboring  men 
there  is  fishing.    In  this  respect  it  is  very  much  like 


204  The  Upward  Path 

Bermuda.  They  go  to  sea  and  return  according  to  the 
tide.  Some  days  they  are  out  by  two  and  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  When  they  go  this  early  they  may  be 
expected  to  return  by  noon  or  even  before  noon. 

I  was  told  that  of  the  sixty-five  fishing  boats  on  the 
Bay  fifty-six  are  owned  by  colored  men.  There  are 
six  men  to  a  crew,  five  beside  the  captain,  who  is  the 
owner  of  the  boat.  They  sail  out  to  sea,  drop  anchor, 
and  fish  with  hook  and  line.  Half  of  what  is  caught 
belongs  to  the  captain,  and  the  other  half  is  equally 
divided  among  the  other  five  men.  They  can  scarcely 
supply  the  market,  so  great  is  the  demand  for  fish  at 
the  Bay  and  in  Cape  Town.  We  were  informed  that  a 
captain  has  been  known  to  make  as  much  as  eight 
pounds  in  a  single  day;  that  is  nearly  forty  dollars. 
Of  course,  there  are  days  when  they  have  poorer  luck. 
Some  days  the  wind  blows  such  a  gale  that  they  are 
unable  to  go  to  sea  at  all. 

It  is  a  beautiful  sight  to  see  the  little  fleet  return. 
Hundreds  of  people  will  gather  about  the  landing  and 
await  their  coming. 

Farther  up  the  bay,  a  drag  net  is  used.  On  the  day 
of  our  visit  we  were  fortunate  in  being  just  in  time  to 
see  a  net  land  ^^full  of  great  fishes."  As  the  net  is 
hauled  near  the  shore,  the  fishermen  all  get  around  it, 
holding  the  lower  portion  of  it  down  to  keep  the  fish 
from  escaping  under  it  and  holding  the  upper  portion 
above  the  water  to  keep  them  from  jumping  over  it. 


Bishop  Atticus  G.  Hay  good  205 

As  the  fish  are  drawn  into  shallow  water  they  become 
very  active,  and  notwithstanding  the  vigilance  of  the 
crew,  some  will  make  their  escape.  The  captain  would 
shout  impulsively  to  the  men;  I  could  not  understand 
him  as  he  expressed  himself  in  "Cape  Dutch,"  but  from 
the  contortions  of  his  face  and  the  frightened  look  of 
the  men,  I  guess  he  must  have  been  using  language 
that  would  not  have  been  suitable  in  a  church  service. 
''A  good  haul,"  some  one  remarked  when  the  net  was 
finally  landed. 


BISHOP   ATTICUS   G.   HAYGOOD 

W.  H.  CROGMAN 

It  is  indeeu  the  peculiar  glory  of  the  truly  great  man, 
that  he  cannot  be  restricted  within  the  State  lines  or 
race  lines.  Wide  as  the  sweep  of  his  sympathies  is  the 
empire  of  hearts  over  which  he  rules.  To  those  of  us, 
therefore,  whose  good  fortune  it  was  to  be  personally 
acquainted  with  Bishop  Hay  good,  it  was  never  a  sur- 
prise that  his  influence  in  both  sections  of  country  and 
among  all  classes  of  people  was  so  large  and  so  com- 
manding. He  was  a  man  of  large  sympathy,  that  royal 
quality  in  the  human  breast  which  invariably  distin- 
guishes the  generous  person  from  the  mean,  that  divine 
quality  which,  despite  our  prejudices  and  antipathies, 


206  The  Upward  Path 

'^makes  the  wnole  world  kin/'  and  is  at  the  bottom  of 
all  Christian  and  philanthropic  endeavor. 

A  thousand  instances  of  kindness  on  the  part  of  the 
good  bishop  to  persons  on  all  sorts  and  colors  might,  I 
suppose,  be  cited  here  in  support  of  the  statement 
made  with  reference  to  his  sympathetic  disposition. 
Many  of  these  little  acts  of  pure  benevolence,  never 
intended  for  the  light,  are  fast  coming  to  light  under 
the  shadow  cast  by  his  death.  For  as  dark  nights  best 
reveal  the  stars,  so  the  gloom  that  at  times  envelopes  a 
human  life  discovers  to  us  its  hidden  virtues. 

This  much,  however,  the  world  knows  in  common 
of  Bishop  Haygood:  He  was  not  a  man  who  passed 
through  life  inquiring,  "Who  is  my  neighbor?"  His 
neighbor  was  the  ignorant  that  needed  to  be  instructed, 
the  vicious  that  needed  to  be  reclaimed,  the  despondent 
that  needed  to  be  encouraged.  Wherever  honest  effort 
was  being  made  for  a  noble  purpose,  there  he  found  his 
neighbor,  and  his  neighbor  found  a  helper.  Like  'The 
Man  of  Galilee,"  he  was  abroad  in  the  land,  studying 
the  needs  of  the  people  and  striving  to  reach  and  influ- 
ence individual  lives. 


How  Two  Colored  Captains  Fell        207 
HOW   TWO   COLORED   CAPTAINS   FELL 

RALPH  W.  TYLER 

A  colored  unit  was  ordered  to  charge,  and  take,  if  pos- 
sible, a  very  difficult  objective  held  by  the  Germans. 
Captains  Fairfax  and  Green,  two  colored  officers,  were 
in  command  of  the  detachments.  They  made  the 
charge,  running  into  several  miles  of  barb-wire  entan- 
glements, and  hampered  by  a  murderous  fire  from  nests 
of  German  machine  guns  which  were  camouflaged. 

Just  before  charging,  one  of  the  colored  sergeants, 
running  up  to  Captain  Fairfax,  said:  '^Do  you  know 
there  is  a  nest  of  German  machine  guns  ahead?" 

The  Captain  replied:  "I  only  know  we  have  been 
ordered  to  go  forward,  and  we  are  going." 

Those  were  the  last  words  he  said,  before  giving  the 
command  to  charge,  "into  the  jaws  of  death."  The 
colored  troops  followed  their  intrepid  leader  with  all 
the  enthusiasm  and  dash  characteristic  of  patriots  and 
courageous  fighters.  They  went  forward,  they  obeyed 
the  order,  and  as  a  result  sixty-two  men  and  two  officers 
were  listed  in  the  casualties  reported. 

Captain  Fairfax's  last  words,  "I  only  know  we  have 
been  ordered  to  go  forward,  and  we  are  going,"  are 
words  that  will  forever  live  in  the  memory  of  his 
race;  they  are  words  that  match  those  of  Sergeant 


208  The  Upward  Path 

Carney,  the  color  sergeant  of  the  54th  Massachusetts 
during  the  Civil  War,  who,  although  badly  wounded, 
held  the  tattered,  shot-pierced  Stars  and  Stripes  aloft 
and  exclaimed,  'The  old  flag  never  touched  the 
ground!" 

Men  who  have  served  under  Captains  Fairfax  and 
Green  say  two  braver  officers  never  fought  and  fell. 


THE   YOUNG   WARRIOR 

JAMES  WELDON  JOHNSON 

Mother,  shed  no  mournful  tears, 
But  gird  me  on  my  sword  ; 
And  give  no  utterance  to  thy  fears, 
But  bless  me  with  thy  word. 

The  lines  are  drawn!     The  fight  is  on! 
A  cause  is  to  be  won! 
Mother,  look  not  so  white  and  wan; 
Give  Godspeed  to  thy  son. 

Now  let  thine  eyes  my  way  pursue 
Where'er  my  footsteps  fare; 
And  when  they  lead  beyond  thy  view, 
Send  after  me  a  prayer. 


Whole  Regiments  Decorated  209 

But  pray  not  to  defend  from  harm, 
Nor  danger  to  dispel  ; 
Pray,  rather  that  with  steadfast  arm 
I  fight  the  battle  well. 

Pray,  mother  of  mine,  that  I  always  keep 
My  heart  and  purpose  strong, 
My  sword  unsullied  and  ready  to  leap 
Unsheathed  against  the  wrong. 


WHOLE   REGIMENTS   DECORATED 

EMMETT   J.    SCOTT 

Four  Negro  regiments  won  the  signal  honor  oi  bemg 
awarded  the  Croix  de  Guerre  as  a  regiment.  These 
were  the  365th,  the  369th,  the  371st  and  the  372d. 
The  369th  (old  15th  New  York  National  Guard)  was 
especially  honored  for  its  record  of  191  days  on  the 
firing  line,  exceeding  by  five  days  the  term  of  service 
at  the  front  of  any  other  American  regiment. 


210  The  Upward  Path 

ON   PLANTING   ARTICHOKES 

From  the  Life  of  Scott  Bond 
daniel  a.  rudd  and  theodore  bond 

I  was  living  at  one  time  on  a  farm,  which  I  had 
bought  near  Forrest  City,  known  a^  the  Neely  farm. 
It  was  also  known  as  a  fine  fruit  farm.  The  land  being 
upland  was  of  a  poor  nature.  I  bought  the  farm 
mainly  on  account  of  the  health  of  my  wife  and  chil- 
dren. I  paid  old  man  Neely  $900  for  120  acres.  This 
farm  was  two  and  a  half  miles  from  my  main  bottom 
farm.  After  moving  on  the  Neely  place  and  getting 
straight,  I  looked  over  the  farm  and  finding  that  the 
land  was  far  from  fertile,  I  decided  to  sow  the 
whole  farm  in  peas,  knowing  peas  were  a  legume  and 
hence  fine  to  put  life  into  the  soil.  I  excepted  several 
small  spots  that  I  planted  in  corn. 

I  got  a  fine  stand  of  peas,  and  looked  as  if  I  would 
make  worlds  of  pea  hay.  When  the  peas  were  ripe  I 
took  my  mower  and  rake  to  harvest  my  hay  crop.  This 
was  the  first  time  I  had  undertaken  to  cultivate  this 
class  of  land.  I  prepared  to  house  the  hay  and  after 
the  hay  was  cut  and  raked,  I  only  got  one- tenth  of 
the  amount  of  hay  I  counted  on.  I  prepared  the  land 
that  fall  and  sowed  it  down  in  clover.  I  got  a  fine 
stand.    The  clover  grew  and  did  well.    The  next  year 


On  Planting  Artichokes  211 

I  took  two  four-horse  wagons  and  hauled  from  the 
Allen  farm  large  loads  of  defective  cotton  seed.  I 
turned  all  this  under  and  planted  the  land  the  next 
year  in  corn.  I  made  and  gathered  a  large  corn  crop 
that  year. 

I  was  at  that  time  taking  a  farm  paper  and  I  would 
usually  sit  at  night  and  entertain  my  wife,  while  she 
was  sewing.  I  read  an  article,  where  a  party  in  Illinois 
had  claimed  that  he  had  gathered  900  bushels  of  arti- 
chokes from  one  acre  of  land.  That  did  not  look 
reasonable  to  me  at  that  time.  I  said  to  my  wife: 
''Listen  to  what  a  mistake  this  fellow  has  made.  He 
claims  to  have  gathered  900  bushels  of  artichokes  from 
one  acre  of  land."    This  seemed  impossible  to  me. 

In  the  next  issue  of  this  paper  I  read  where  another  . 
man  claimed  to  have  raised  1,100  bushels  to  the  acre. 
This  put  me  at  a  further  wonder  as  to  the  artichoke 
crop.  I  decided  to  try  a  crop  of  artichokes.  I  had 
a  very  nice  spot  of  land  that  I  thought  would  suit  me 
for  this  purpose.  I  prepared  it  as  I  would  prepare  land 
for  Irish  potatoes,  knowing  that  artichokes  were,  like 
the  Irish  potato,  a  tuber.  I  took  a  four-horse  wagon 
and  hauled  one  and  a  half  tons  of  rotten  cotton  seed, 
and  of  this  I  put  a  double  handful  every  18  inches 
apart  in  the  drill;  I  then  dropped  the  artichokes  be- 
tween the  hills.  I  cultivated  first  as  I  would  Irish  po- 
tatoes. The  plants  grew  luxuriantly  and  were  all  the 
way  from  8  to  12  feet  tall. 


212  The  Upward  Path 

About  the  10th  of  August  I  noticed  the  plants  were 
blooming  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  there  must  be 
artichokes  on  the  roots.  I  got  my  spade  and  began 
to  dig.  I  could  not  find  a  single  artichoke.  I  took  my 
spade  back  home  and  decided  within  myself  that  both 
parties  were  mistaken  when  they  claimed  to  have 
grown  so  many  hundreds  of  bushels  to  the  acre.  After 
a  few  days  I  went  to  my  lower  farm  and  started  pick- 
ing cotton,  and  was  as  busy  as  busy  could  be  all  that 
fall  gathering  and  housing  my  cotton  crop  as  usual. 

Just  before  Christmas  I  promised  my  wife  that  I 
would  be  at  home  on  Christmas  Eve  in  order  to  ac- 
company her  to  our  church  conference.  I  was  on  time 
according  to  my  promise,  helped  her  to  get  her  house- 
hold affairs  straight  and  the  children  settled.  I  had 
bought  my  wife  a  beautiful  cape.  She  took  the  cape, 
I  took  my  overcoat  and  off  we  went.  In  order  to  take 
a  near  route  we  decided  to  climb  the  fence  and  go 
through  the  artichoke  patch.  As  we  had  none  of  the 
children  along  I,  helping  her  over  the  fence,  recalled 
our  old  days  when  we  were  courting.  I  remarked  to 
her: 

"Gee  whiz,  wife,  you  certainly  look  good  under  that 
cape!'' 

She  said,  "Do  you  think  so?" 

"Yes,  I  have  always  thought  that  you  looked  good." 

By  this  time  we  had  gotten  to  the  middle  of  the  arti- 
choke patch.    I  grabbed  an  artichoke  stalk  and  tried 


On  Planting  Artichokes  213 

to  pull  it  up.  I  made  one  or  two  surges  and  it  failed 
to  come,  but  in  bending  it  over  I  found  a  great  num- 
ber of  artichokes  attached  to  the  tap  root.  I  asked  my 
wife  to  wait  a  few  minutes.  She  asked  me  what  I  was 
going  to  do.  I  told  her  I  would  run  back  and  get  the 
grubbing  hoe  and  see  what  is  under  these  artichokes. 
She  said,  "Doesn't  this  beat  the  band?  Stop  on  your 
way  to  church  to  go  to  digging  artichokes." 

"All  right,  I  will  be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

I  came  with  my  grubbing  hoe  and  went  to  work.  I 
dug  on  all  sides  of  the  stalk,  then  raised  it  up.  I  be- 
lieve I  am  safe  in  saying  there  was  a  half  bushel  of  arti- 
chokes on  the  roots  of  this  stalk.  I  then  noticed  that 
the  dirt  in  the  drills,  the  sides  of  the  rows,  and  the  mid- 
dles were  all  puffed  up.  One  could  not  stick  the  end 
of  his  finger  in  the  ground  without  touching  an  arti- 
choke. I  found  that  the  whole  earth  was  matted  with 
artichokes.  I  really  believe  that  had  I  had  a  full  acre 
in  and  could  have  gathered  all  the  artichokes,  I  would 
have  gotten  at  least  1,500  bushels. 

I  told  my  wife  that  now  I  could  see  that  those  people 
had  told  the  truth  when  they  said  they  had  gathered 
900  bushels  and  1,100  bushels  to  the  acre. 

When  I  returned  from  church,  I  at  once  turned  my 
hogs  into  the  artichoke  patch.  I  then  climbed  up  on 
the  fence  and  took  a  seat  to  watch  the  hogs  root  and 
crush  artichokes.  I  looked  around  and  saw  my  clover 
had  made  a  success,  the  little  artichoke  patch  had 


214  The  Upward  Path 

turned  out  wonderfully.  I  said  to  myself:  "Just  think 
of  millions  and  millions  of  dollars  deposited  in  all  these 
lands,  both  rich  and  poor  soils.  And  just  to  think  how 
easy  this  money  could  be  obtained  if  one  would  think 
right  and  hustle." 


A  SONG   OF  THANKS 

EDWARD   SMYTH   JONES 

For  the  sun  that  shone  at  the  dawn  of  spring, 
For  the  flowers  which  bloom  and  the  birds  that  sing. 
For  the  verdant  robe  of  the  grey  old  earth. 
For  her  coffers  filled  with  their  countless  worth, 
For  the  flocks  which  feed  on  a  thousand  hills. 
For  the  rippling  streams  which  turn  the  mills. 
For  the  lowing  herds  in  the  lovely  vale, 
For  the  songs  of  gladness  on  the  gale, — 
From  the  Gulf  and  the  Lakes  to  the  Oceans^  banks,  — 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  we  give  Thee  thanks ! 

For  the  farmer  reaping  his  whitened  fields, 
For  the  bounty  which  the  rich  soil  yields. 
For  the  cooling  dews  and  refreshing  rains, 
For  the  sun  which  ripens  the  golden  grains, 


A  Song  of  Thanks  215 

For  the  bearded  wheat  and  the  fattened  swine, 

For  the  stalled  ox  and  the  fruitful  vine, 

For  the  tubers  large   and   cotton  white, 

For  the  kid  and  the  lambkin,  frisk  and  blithe. 

For  the  swan  which  floats  near  the  river-banks, — 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  we  give  Thee  thanks! 

For  the  pumpkin  sweet  and  the  yellow  yam, 
For  the  corn  and  beans  and  the  sugared  ham, 
For  the  plum  and  the  peach  and  the  apple  red. 
For  the  clustering  nut  trees  overhead. 
For  the  cock  which  crows  at  the  breaking  dawn. 
And  the  proud  old  "turk'^  of  the  farmer's  bam. 
For  the  fish  which  swim  in  the  babbling  brooks. 
For  the  game  which  hides  in  the  shady  nooks, — 
From  the  Gulf  and  the  Lakes  to  the  Oceans'  banks,  — 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  we  give  Thee  thanks! 

For  the  sturdy  oaks  and  the  stately  pines. 

For  the  lead  and  the  coal  from  the  deep,  dark  mines, 

For  the  silver  ores  of  a  thousand  fold. 

For  the  diamond  bright  and  the  yellow  gold, 

For  the  river  boat  and  the  flying  train. 

For  the  fleecy  sail  of  the  rolling  mam, 

For  the  velvet  sponge  and  the  glossy  pearl. 

For  the  flag  of  peace  which  we  now  unfurl,  — 

From  the  Gulf  and  the  Lakes  to  the  Oceans'  Banks,  — 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  we  give  Thee  thanks! 


216  The  Upward  Path 

For  the  lowly  cot  and  the  mansion  fair, 

For  the  peace  and  plenty  together  share, 

For  the  Hand  which  guides  us  from  above, 

For  Thy  tender  mercies,  abiding  love, 

For  the  blessed  home  with  its  children  gay, 

For  returnings  of  Thanksgiving  Day, 

For  the  bearing  toils  and  the  sharing  cares, 

We  lift  up  our  hearts  in  our  songs  and  our  prayers,  — 

From  the  Gulf  and  the  Lakes  to  the  Oceans'  banks,  — 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  we  give  Thee  thanks! 


OUR   DUMB   ANIMALS 

SILAS  X.  FLOYD 

Domestic  animals  —  like  horses,  cats  and  dogs  — 
seem  to  be  almost  as  dependent  upon  kind  treatment 
and  affection  as  human  beings.  Horses  and  dogs 
especially  are  the  most  keenly  intelligent  of  our  dumb 
friends,  and  are  alike  sensitive  to  cruelty  in  any  form. 
They  are  influenced  to  an  equal  degree  by  kind  and 
affectionate  treatment. 

If  there  is  any  form  of  cruelty  that  is  more  blame- 
worthy than  another,  it  is  abuse  of  a  faithful  horse 
who  gives  his  life  to  the  service  of  the  owner.  When 
a  horse  is  pulling  a  heavy  load  with  all  his  might, 
doing  the  best  he  can  to  move  under  it,  to  strike  him. 


Our  Dumb  Animals  217 

spur  him,  or  swear  at  him  is  barbarous.  To  kick  a 
dog  around  or  strike  him  with  sticks  just  for  the  fun 
of  hearing  him  yelp  or  seeing  him  run,  is  equally  bar- 
barous. No  high-minded  man,  no  high-minded  boy 
or  girl,  would  do  such  a  thing. 

We  should  never  forget  how  helpless,  in  a  large  sense, 
dumb  animals  are  —  and  how  absolutely  dependent 
upon  the  humanity  and  kindness  of  their  owners. 
They  are  really  the  slaves  of  man,  having  no  language 
by  which  to  express  their  feelings  or  needs. 

The  poet  Cowper  said: 

"I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends, 
Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine  sense, 
Yet  wanting  sensibility,  the  man 
Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 

Boys  and  girls  should  be  willing  to  pledge  them- 
selves to  be  kind  to  all  harmless  living  creatures,  and 
every  boy  and  girl  should  strive  to  protect  such  crea- 
tures from  cruel  usage  on  the  part  of  others.  It  is  noble, 
boys  and  girls,  for  us  to  speak  for  those  that  cannot 
speak  for  themselves,  and  it  is  noble,  also,  for  us  to 
protect  those  that  cannot  protect  themselves. 


218  The  Upward  Path 

A   LEGEND   OF  THE   BLUE   JAY 

RUTH  ANNA  FISHER 

It  was  a  hot,  sultry  day  in  May  and  the  children  in 
the  little  school  in  Virginia  were  wearily  waiting  for 
the  gong  to  free  them  from  lessons  for  the  day.  Fur- 
tive glances  were  directed  towards  the  clock.  The  call 
of  the  birds  and  fields  was  becoming  more  and  more 
insistent.    Would  the  hour  never  strike! 

"The  Planting  of  the  Apple-tree"  had  no  interest 
for  them.  Little  attention  was  given  the  boy  as  he 
read  in  a  sing-song,  spiritless  manner: 

"What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree? 
Buds,  which  the  breath'  of  summer  days 
Shall  lengthen  into  leafy  sprays; 
Boughs  where  the  thrush,  with  crimson  breast, 
Shall  haunt  and  sing  and  hide  her  nest." 

The  teacher,  who  had  long  since  stopped  trying  to 
make  the  lesson  interesting,  found  herself  saying  me- 
chanically, "What  other  birds  have  their  nests  in  the 
apple-tree?" 

The  boy  shifted  lazily  from  one  foot  to  the  other  as 
he  began,  "The  sparrow,  the  robin,  and  wrens,  and  — 
the  snow-birds  and  blue-jays  —  " 

"No,  they  don't,  blue-jays  don't  have  nests,"  came 


A  Legend  of  the  Blue  Jay  219 

the  excited  outburst  from  some  of  the  children,  much 
to  the  surprise  of  the  teacher. 

When  order  was  restored  some  of  these  brown- 
skinned  children,  who  came  from  the  heart  of  the 
Virginian  mountains,  told  this  legend  of  the  blue- jay. 

Long,  long  years  ago,  the  devil  came  to  buy  the 
blue-jay's  soul,  for  which  he  first  offered  a  beautiful 
golden  ear  of  corn.  This  the  blue- jay  liked  and  wanted 
badly,  but  said,  ^'No,  I  cannot  take  it  in  exchange  for 
my  soul."  Then  the  devil  came  again,  this  time  with 
a  bright  red  ear  of  corn  which  was  even  more  lovely 
than  the  golden  one. 

This,  too,  the  blue-jay  refused.  At  last  the  devil 
came  to  offer  him  a  wonderful  blue  ear.  This  one  the 
blue- jay  liked  best  of  all,  but  still  was  unwilling  to 
part  with  his  soul.  Then  the  devil  hung  it  up  in  the 
nest,  and  the  blue- jay  found  that  it  exactly  matched 
his  own  brilliant  feathers,  and  knew  at  once  that  he 
must  have  it.  The  bargain  was  quickly  made.  And 
now  in  payment  for  that  one  blue  ear  of  corn  each 
Friday  the  blue- jay  must  carry  one  grain  of  sand  to 
the  devil,  and  sometimes  he  gets  back  on  Sunday,  but 
oftener  not  until  Monday. 

Very  seriously  the  children  added,  "And  all  the  bad 
people  are  going  to  burn  until  the  blue- jays  have  car- 
ried all  the  grains  of  sand  in  the  ocean  to  the  devil." 

The  teacher  must  have  smiled  a  little  at  the  legend, 
for  the  children  cried  out  again,  "It  is  so.    'Deed  it  is, 


220  The  Upward  Path 

for  doesn't  the  black  spot  on  the  blue- jay  come  because 
he  gets  his  wings  scorched,  and  he  doesn't  have  a  nest 
like  other  birds." 

Then,  to  dispel  any  further  doubts  the  teacher  might 
have,  they  asked  triumphantly,  "You  never  saw  a  blue- 
jay  on  Friday,  did  you?" 

There  was  no  need  to  answer,  for  just  then  the  gong 
sounded  and  the  children  trooped  happily  out  to  play. 


DAVID   LIVINGSTONE 

BENJAMIN  BRAWLEY 

When  Livingstone  began  his  work  of  exploration  in 
1849,  practically  all  of  Africa  between  the  Sahara  and 
the  Dutch  settlements  in  the  extreme  South  was  un- 
known territory.  By  the  time  of  his  death  in  1873 
he  had  brought  this  entire  region  within  the  view  of 
civilization.  On  his  first  journey,  or  series  of  journeys 
(1849-1856,)  starting  from  Cape  Town,  he  made  his 
way  northward  for  a  thousand  miles  to  Lake  Ngami; 
then  pushing  on  to  Linyanti,  he  undertook  one  of  the 
most  perilous  excursions  of  his  entire  career,  his  ob- 
jective for  more  than  a  thousand  miles  being  Loanda 
on  the  West  Coast,  which  point  he  reached  after  six 
months' in  the  wilderness. 

Coming  back  to  Linyanti,  he  turned  his  face  east- 


David  Livingstone  221 

ward,  discovered  Victoria  Falls  on  the  Zambesi,  and 
finally  arrived  at  Cuilimane  on  the  coast.  On  his 
second  series  of  journeys  (1858-1864)  he  explored  the 
Zambesi,  the  Shire,  and  the  Rovuma  rivers  in  the 
East,  and  discovered  Lake  Nyasa.  On  his  final  expe- 
dition (1866-18 73),  in  hunting  for  the  upper  courses 
of  the  Nile,  he  discovered  Lakes  Tanganyika,  Mweru, 
and  Bangweolo,  and  the  Lualaba  River.  His  achieve- 
ment as  an  explorer  was  as  distinct  as  it  was  unpar- 
alleled. His  work  as  a  missionary  and  his  worth  as  a 
man  it  is  not  quite  so  easy  to  express  concretely;  but 
in  these  capacities  he  was  no  less  distinguished  and 
his  accomplishment  no  less  signal. 

There  had  been  missionaries,  and  great  ones,  in 
Africa  before  Livingstone.  The  difference  between 
Livingstone  and  consecrated  men  was  not  so  much  in 
devotion  as  in  the  conception  of  the  task.  He  him- 
self felt  that  a  missionary  in  the  Africa  of  his  day  was 
to  be  more  than  a  mere  preacher  of  the  word  —  that 
he  would  have  also  to  be  a  Christian  statesman,  and 
even  a  director  of  exploration  and  commerce  if  need 
be.  This  was  his  title  to  greatness;  to  him  "the  end  of 
the  geographical  feat  was  only  the  beginning  of  the 
enterprise."  Knowing,  however,  that  many  honest 
persons  did  not  sympathize  with  him  in  this  conception 
of  his  mission,  after  1856  he  declined  longer  to  accept 
salary  from  the  missionary  society  that  originally  sent 
him  out,  working  afterwards  under  the  patronage  of 


222  The  Upward  Path 

the  British  Government  and  the  Royal  Geographical 
Society. 

His  sympathy  and  his  courtesy  were  unfailing,  even 
Iwhen  he  himself  was  placed  in  the  greatest  danger. 
Said  Henry  Drummond  of  him :  "Wherever  David  Liv- 
ingstone's footsteps  are  crossed  in  Africa  the  fra- 
grance of  his  memory  seems  to  remain."  On  one  occa- 
sion a  hunter  was  impaled  on  the  horn  of  a  rhmoceros, 
and  a  messenger  ran  eight  miles  for  the  physician. 
Although  he  himself  had  been  wounded  for  life  by  a 
lion  and  his  friends  insisted  that  he  should  not  ride  at 
night  through  a  wood  infested  with  wild  beasts,  Liv- 
ingstone insisted  on  his  Christian  duty  to  go,  only  to 
find  that  the  man  had  died  and  to  have  to  retrace  his 
footsteps. 

Again  and  again  his  party  would  have  been  destroyed 
by  some  savage  chieftain  if  it  had  not  been  for  his 
own  unbounded  tact  and  courage.  To  the  devoted 
men  who  helped  him  he  gave  the  assurance  that  he 
would  die  before  he  would  permit  them  to  be  taken; 
and  after  his  death  at  Chitambo's  village  Susi  and 
Chuma  journeyed  for  nine  months  and  over  eight 
hundred  miles  of  dangerous  country  to  take  his  body 
to  the  coast. 

Livingstone  was  a  man  of  tremendous  faith,  in  his 
mission,  in  his  country,  in  humanity,  in  God.  He 
wrote  on  one  occasion :  "This  age  presents  one  great  fact 
in  the  Providence  of  God;  missions  are  sent  forth  to 


David  Livingstone  223 

all  quarters  of  the  world,  —  missions  not  of  one  sec- 
tion of  the  Church,  but  from  all  sections,  and  from 
nearly  all  Christian  nations.  It  seems  very  unfair  to 
judge  of  the  success  of  these  by  the  number  of  the 
conversions  that  have  followed.  These  are  rather 
proofs  of  the  missions  being  of  the  right  sort.  The 
fact  which  ought  to  stimulate  us  above  all  others  is, 
not  that  we  have  contributed  to  the  conversion  of  a 
few  souls,  however  valuable  these  may  be,  but  that 
we  are  diffusing  a  knowledge  of  Christianity  through- 
out the  world.  Future  missionaries  will  see  conver- 
sions follow  every  sermon.  We  prepare  the  way  for 
them.  We  work  for  a  glorious  future  which  we  are 
not  destined  to  see  —  the  golden  age  which  has  not 
been,  but  will  yet  be.  We  are  only  morning-stars 
shining  in  the  dark,  but  the  glorious  mom  will  break, 
the  good  time  coming  yet.  For  this  time  we  work; 
may  God  accept  our  imperfect  service." 

Of  such  quality  was  David  Livingstone  —  Mission- 
ary, Explorer,  Philanthropist.  "For  thirty  years  his 
life  was  spent  in  an  unwearied  effort  to  evangelize  the 
native  races,  to  explore  the  undiscovered  secrets,  and 
abolish  the  desolating  slave  trade  of  Central  Africa." 
To  what  extent  after  sixty  years  have  we  advanced 
toward  his  ideals?  With  what  justice  are  we  the  in- 
heritors of  his  renown? 


224  The  Upward  Path 

IRA  ALDRIDGE 

WILLIAM  J.  SIMMONS 

The  name  of  Aldridge  has  always  been  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  list  of  Negro  actors.  He  has  indeed 
become  the  most  noted  of  them,  and  his  name  is  cited 
as  standing  first  in  his  calling  among  all  colored  per- 
sons who  have  ever  appeared  on  the  stage.  He  was 
born  at  Belaire,  near  Baltimore,  in  1804.  In  com- 
plexion he  was  dark  brown,  and  with  heavy  whiskers; 
standing  six  feet  in  height,  with  heavy  frame,  African 
features,  and  yet  with  due  proportions;  he  was  grace- 
ful in  his  attitudes,  highly  polished  in  manners. 

In  his  early  days  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  ship  car- 
penter, and  had  his  association  with  the  Germans  on 
the  western  shores  of  Maryland.  Here  he  became  fa- 
miliar with  the  German  language  and  spoke  it  not 
only  with  ease  but  with  fluency.  He  was  brought  in 
contact  with  Edmund  Kean,  the  great  actor,  in  1826, 
whom  he  accompanied  in  his  trip  through  Europe. 
His  ambition  to  become  an  actor  was  encouraged  by 
Kean,  and  receiving  his  assistance  in  the  preparation, 
he  made  his  appearance  first  at  the  Royalty  Theatre  in 
London,  in  the  character  of  Othello.  Public  applause 
greeted  him  of  such  an  extraordinary  nature,  that  he 
was  billed  to  appear  at  the  Covent  Garden  Theatre 
April  10,  1839,  in  the  same  character. 


Ira  Aldridge  225 

After  many  years'  successful  appearances  in  many 
of  the  metropolitan  cities,  he  appeared  in  the  Prov- 
inces with  still  greater  success.  In  Ireland  he  per- 
formed Othello,  with  Edmund  Kean  as  lago.  In  1852 
he  appeared  in  Germany  in  Shakespearean  characters. 
He  was  pronounced  excellent,  and  though  a  stranger 
and  a  foreigner,  he  undertook  the  very  difficult  task  of 
playing  in  English,  while  his  whole  support  was  ren- 
dered in  the  language  of  the  country.  It  is  said  that 
until  this  time,  such  an  experiment  was  not  considered 
susceptible  of  a  successful  end,  but  nevertheless,  with 
his  impersonations  he  succeeded  admirably.  It  is  said 
that  the  King  of  Prussia  was  so  deeply  moved  with  his 
appearance  in  the  character  of  Othello,  at  Berlin,  that 
he  spent  him  a  congratulatory  letter,  and  conferred 
upon  him  the  title  of  chevalier,  in  recognition  of  his 
dramatic  genius,  and  informed  him  that  the  lady  who 
took  the  part  of  Desdemona  was  so  much  affected  at 
the  manner  in  which  he  played  his  part  that  she  was 
made  ill  from  fright  on  account  of  the  reality  with 
which  he  acted  his  part. 

Some  idea  of  the  character  of  his  acting  might  be 
gained  from  the  fact  that  the  lady  who  played  Des- 
demona in  St.  Petersburg,  became  very  much  alarmed 
at  what  appeared  real  passion  on  his  part,  in  acting 
Othello;  though  he  was  never  rough  or  indelicate  in 
any  of  his  acting  with  ladies,  yet  she  was  so  frightened 
that  she  used  to  scream  with  real  fear. 


226  The  Upward  Path 

It  is  said  that  on  another  occasion  in  St.  Petersburg, 
that  in  the  midst  of  his  acting  in  scene  two,  act  five, 
when  he  was  quoting  these  words, 

"It  is  the  cause,  it  is  the  cause,  my  soul  ; 

Let  me  not  name  it  to  you,  you  chaste  stars ! 

It  is  the  cause.    Yet  111  not  shed  her  blood. 

Nor  scar  that  whiter  skin  of  hers  than  snow, 

And  smooth  as  monumental  alabaster. 

Yet  she  must  die,  else  she'll  betray  more  men. 

Put  out  the  light,  and  then  —  put  out  the  light! 

If  I  quench  thee,  thou  flaming  minister, 

I  can  again  thy  former  light  restore. 

Should  I  repent  me:    But  once  put  out  thy  light. 

Thou  cunning'st  pattern  of  excelling  nature; 

I  know  not  where  is  that  Promethean  heat, 

That  can  thy  light  relume.    When  I  have  plucked  thy 

rose, 
I  cannot  give  it  vital  growth  again  ; 
It  needs  must  wither: — I'll  smell  it  on  the  tree  — 

(kissing  her) 
0  balmy  breath,  that  dost  almost  persuade 
Justice  to  break  her  sword :  —  One  more,  one  more :  — 
Be  thus  when  thou  art  dead,  and  I  will  kill  thee. 
And  love  thee  after:  —  One  more  —  and  this  the  last: 
So  sweet  was  ne'er  so  fatal.    I  must  weep. 
But  they  are  cruel  tears: 
This  sorrow's  heavenly: 
It  strikes  where  it  doth  love." 


Ira  Aldridge  227 

the  house  was  so  carried  away  with  the  manner  in 
which  he  rendered  it,  that  a  young  man  stood  up  and 
exclaimed  with  the  greatest  earnestness:  "She  is  inno- 
cent, Othello,  she  is  innocent,"  and  yet  so  interested 
was  he  in  the  acting  himself  that  he  never  moved  a 
muscle  but  continued  as  if  nothing  had  been  said  to 
embarrass  him.  The  next  day  he  learned,  while  dining 
with  a  Russian  prince,  that  a  young  man  who  had 
been  present  had  been  so  affected  by  the  play  that  he 
had  been  seized  with  a  sudden  illness  and  died  the 
next  day. 

Mr.  Aldridge  was  a  welcome  guest  in  the  ranks  of 
the  cultured  and  wealthy,  and  was  often  in  the  ''sa- 
lons" of  the  haughty  aristocrats  of  St.  Petersburg  and 
Moscow.  Titled  ladies  wove,  knitted  and  stitched 
their  pleasing  emotions  into  various  memorials  of 
friendship.  In  his  palatial  residence  at  Sydenham, 
near  London,  were  collected  many  presents  of  intrin- 
sic value,  rendered  almost  sacred  by  association.  Prom- 
inent among  these  tokens  of  regard  was  an  autographic 
letter  from  the  King  of  Prussia,  transmitting  the  first 
medal  of  art  and  sciences;  the  Cross  of  Leopold,  from 
the  Emperor  of  Russia,  and  a  Maltese  cross  received 
at  Berne. 

In  all  his  triumphs  he  never  lost  interest  in  the  con- 
dition of  his  race.  He  always  took  an  interest  in 
everything  touching  their  welfare,  and  though  exalted 
to  the  companionship  of  those  who  ranked  high  in 


228  The  Upward  Path 

every  department  of  life,  yet  he  never  in  any  way 
forgot  the  humble  race  with  which  he  was  identified, 
and  was  always  solicitous  for  their  welfare  and  pro- 
motion. He  was  an  associate  of  the  most  prominent 
men  of  Paris,  among  whom  was  Alexander  Dumas. 
When  the  great  tragedian  and  great  writer  met  they 
always  kissed  each  other,  and  Dumas  always  greeted 
Aldridge  with  the  words  Mon  Confrere.  He  died  at 
Lodes,  in  Poland,  August  7,  1867. 


FIFTY   YEARS 
1863-1913 

JAMES  WELDON  JOHNSON 

O  brothers  mine,  to-day  we  stand 
Where  half  a  century  sweeps  our  ken, 
Since  God,  through  Lincoln's  ready  hand, 
Struck  off  our  bonds  and  made  us  men. 

Just  fifty  years  —  a  winter's  day  — 
As  runs  the  history  of  a  race; 
Yet,  as  we  look  back  o'er  the  way. 
How  distant  seems  our  starting  place ! 

Look  farther  back!     Three  centuries! 
To  where  a  naked,  shivering  score. 
Snatched  from  their  haunts  across  the  seas, 
Stood  wild-eyed,  on  Virginia's  shore. 


Fiftij  Years  229 

Far,  far  the  way  that  we  have  trod, 
From  heathen  kraals  and  jungle  dens, 
To  freedmen,  freemen,  sons  of  God, 
Americans  and  Citizens. 

A  part  of  His  unknown  design, 
We've  lived  within  a  mighty  age; 
And  we  have  helped  ^o  write  a  line 
On  history's  most  wondrous  page. 

A  few  black  bondmen  strewn  along 
The  border;*)  of  our  eastern  coast, 
Now  grown  a  race,  ten  million  strong. 
An  upward,  onward  marching  host. 

Then  let  us  here  erect  a  stone, 
To  mark  the  place,  to  mark  the  time ; 
A  witness  to  God's  mercies  shown, 
A  pledge  to  hold  this  day  sublime. 

And  let  that  stone  an  altar  be. 
Whereon  thanksgivings  we  may  lay. 
Where  we,  in  deep  humility. 
For  faith  and  strength  renewed  may  pray. 

With  open  hearts  ask  from  above 
New  zeal,  new  courage  and  new  pow'rs, 
That  we  may  grow  more  worthy  of 
This  country  and  this  land  of  ours. 


230  The  Upward  Path 

For  never  let  the  thought  arise 
That  we  are  here  on  sufferance  bare; 
Outcasts,  asylumed  'neath  these  skies 
And  ahens  without  part  or  share. 

This  land  is  ours  by  right  of  birth, 
This  land  is  ours  by  right  of  toil; 
We  helped  to  turn  its  virgin  earth, 
Our  sweat  is  in  its  fruitful  soil. 

Where  once  the  tangled  forest  stood,  — 
Where  flourished  once  rank  weed  and  thorn,  — 
Behold  the  path-traced,  peaceful  wood, 
The  cotton  white,  the  yellow  corn. 

To  gain  these  fruits  that  have  been  earned. 
To  hold  these  fields  that  have  been  won, 
Our  arms  have  strained,  our  backs  have  burned, 
Bent  bare  beneath  a  ruthless  sun. 

That  Banner  which  is  now  the  type 
Of  victory  on  field  and  flood  — 
Remember,  its  first  crimson  stripe 
Was  dyed  by  Attucks'  willing  blood. 

And  never  yet  has  come  the  cry  — 
When  that  fair  flag  has  been  assailed  — 
For  men  to  do,  for  men  to  die. 
That  have  we  faltered  or  have  failed. 


Fifty  Years  231 

WeVe  helped  to  bear  it,  rent  and  torn, 
Through  many  a  hot-breath'd  battle  breeze; 
Held  in  our  hands,  it  has  been  borne 
And  planted  far  across  the  seas. 

And  never  yet  —  O  haughty  Land, 
Let  us,  at  least,  for  this  be  praised  — 
Has  one  black,   treason-guided  hand 
Ever  against  that  flag  been  raised. 

Then  should  we  speak  but  servile  words. 
Or  shall  we  hang  our  heads  in  shame? 
Stand  back  of  new-come  foreign  hordes. 
And  fear  our  heritage  to  claim? 

No !  stand  erect  and  without  fear. 
And  for  our  foes  let  this  sufiice  — 
WeVe  bought  a  rightful  sonship  here, 
And  we  have  more  than  paid  the  price. 

And  yet,  my  brothers,  well  I  know 

The  tethered  feet,  the  pinioned  wings. 

The  spirit  bowed  beneath  the  blow, 

The  heart  grown  faint  from  wounds  and  stings ; 

The  staggering  force  of  brutish  might, 
That  strikes  and  leaves  us  stunned  and  dazed; 
The  long,  vain  waiting  through  the  night 
To  hear  some  voice  for  justice  raised. 


232  The  Upward  Path 

Full  well  I  know  the  hour  when  hope 
Sinks  dead,  and  'round  us  everywhere 
Hangs  stiiBing  darkness,  and  we  grope 
With  hands  uphfted  in  despair. 

Courage!    Look  out,  beyond,  and  see 
The  far  horizon's  beckoning  span ! 
Faith  in  your  God-known  destiny! 
We  are  a  part  of  some  great  plan. 

Because  the  tongues  of  Garrison 
And  Phillips  now  are  cold  in  death, 
Think  you  their  work  can  be  undone? 
Or  quenched  the  fires  lit  by  their  breath? 

Think  you  that  John  Brown's  spirit  stops? 
That  Love  joy  was  but  idly  slain? 
Or  do  you  think  those  precious  drops 
From  Lincoln's  heart  were  shed  in  vain? 

That  for  which  millions  prayed  and  sighed^ 
That  for  which  tens  of  thousands  fought, 
For  which  so  many  freely  died, 
God  cannot  let  it  come  to  naught. 


A  Great  Kingdom  in  the  Congo        233 
A  GREAT  KINGDOM  IN  THE   CONGO 

WILLIAM  HENRY  SHEPPARD 

I  had  studied  the  new  dialect  of  the  Bakuba  and  had 
made  every  preparation  for  our  expedition  into  the 
^'Forbidden  Land"  of  King  Lukenga.  I  had  met  their 
people,  a  far  interior  tribe,  and  was  interested  in  their 
apparent  superiority  in  physique,  manners,  dress  and 
dialect.  I  asked  to  be  allowed  to  accompany  them  to 
their  country  and  king,  but  they  said  it  was  impossible, 
their  king  would  never  allow  a  foreigner  to  come  into 
the  interior.  Nevertheless  I  determined  to  seek  them 
out  and  after  some  weeks  had  elapsed,  I  called  our 
station  natives  together  and  laid  plainly  before  them 
the  perils  of  the  journey.  I  told  them,  from  the  infor- 
mation which  I  had,  that  the  trails  which  had  been 
made  by  elephant,  buffalo,  antelope  and  Bakuba  na- 
tives were  many  and  they  led  over  long,  hot,  sandy 
plains  through  deep  dark  forests,  across  streams  with- 
out bridges,  and  through  swamps  infested  with  wild 
animals  and  poisonous  serpents.  And  above  all,  the 
king  had  sent  word  throughout  the  land  that  we  could 
not  enter  his  country.  Not  a  man's  muscle  moved,  and 
there  was  not  a  dissenting  voice. 

I  had  picked  up  the  Bakuba  dialect  from  some  of 
the  king's  traders  and  tax  collectors  who  journeyed  our 


234  The  Upward  Path 

way.  I  received  from  them  much  information  of  the 
general  direction  leading  north  toward  the  capital,  the 
names  of  large  towns  on  the  way,  of  the  market  towns, 
the  approximate  distances  apart,  the  streams  to  be 
crossed,  and  their  names;  of  the  leopard,  buffalo  and 
elephant  zones,  and  the  names  of  some  of  the  chiefs  of 
the  market  towns,  etc. 

Two  days  later,  when  all  was  in  readiness,  tents 
loaded,  cooking  utensils,  a  bag  of  money  (cowrie 
shells),  some  salt,  etc.,  we  left  Luebo,  led  by  the  Mas- 
ter's hand. 

The  trail  lay  northeast  by  north  with  a  gradual 
ascent.  The  country  was  well  wooded  and  watered. 
No  stones  could  be  seen  anywhere,  and  the  soil  was 
sandy.  There  were  many  extensive  plains  with  mag- 
nificent palm  trees,  hundreds  and  thousands  of  them 
ranging  from  a  foot  high,  which  the  elephants  fed 
upon,  to  those  fifty  and  sixty  feet  high.  The  forest 
everywhere  was  ever  green.  Trees  blossomed  and 
bloomed,  sending  out  upon  the  gentle  breeze  their  fra- 
grance, so  acceptable  to  the  traveler.  Festoons  of  moss 
and  running  vines  made  the  forest  look  like  a  beauti- 
fully painted  theatre  or  an  enormous  swinging 
garden. 

In  the  meantime  word  had  come  to  the  king  of 
Lukenga  of  our  presence  and,  as  we  neared  his  king- 
dom, we  were  met  by  a  party  of  fighting  men.  My 
caravan  had  been  resting  in  the  village  of  a  chief  named 


A  Great  Kingdom  in  the  Congo         235 

Kueta,  who  had  repeatedly  urged  me  to  turn  back,  and, 
as  the  fighting  men  of  King  Lukenga  appeared,  the 
chief's  men  fled  to  the  forest.  I  sat  quietly,  however, 
in  my  seat  in  front  of  my  tent  and  my  people  began 
to  gather  around  my  chair,  the  youngest  of  the  cara- 
van nestling  on  his  knees  very  close  to  me.  The  king's 
people  drew  near  and  the  leading  man,  spear  in  hand, 
called  to  Chief  Kueta  in  a  voice  that  rang  through 
the  village: 

"Now  hear  the  words  of  King  Lukenga:  Because 
you  have  entertained  a  foreigner  in  your  village,  we 
have  come  to  take  you  to  the  capital  for  trial." 

I  knew  things  were  now  serious,  so  rising  from  my 
seat  I  called  to  the  head  man  to  meet  me  half  way.  He 
paid  no  attention.  I  called  a  second  time  and  walked 
up  to  him  and  began  to  plead  for  Chief  Kueta. 

"I  understand  you  are  sent  by  your  king  to  arrest 
these  people." 

"It  is  the  word  of  the  king,"  said  he. 

I  continued,  "The  chief  of  this  village  is  not  guilty ; 
he  gave  me  warning  and  told  me  to  go  away,  to  return 
the  way  I  had  come,  and  I  did  not.  It  is  my  fault  and 
not  Kueta's." 

The  leader,  leaning  on  his  spear,  replied, 

"You  speak  our  language?" 

"I  do,"  was  my  quick  answer. 

"That  is  strange,"  said  he. 

The  leader  and  his  men  moved  off  some  distance  and 


236  The  Upward  Path 

talked  between  themselves.  In  a  little  while  he  came 
back  to  me  saying,  "I  will  return  to  the  capital  and 
report  these  things  to  the  king." 

I  said  to  him,  "Tell  your  king  I  am  not  a  bad  man  ; 
I  do  not  steal  or  kill ;  I  have  a  message  for  him.  Wait 
a  moment,"  said  I.  Taking  from  one  of  my  boxes  a 
very  large  cowrie  shell,  near  the  size  of  one's  fist,  and 
•holding  it  up,  I  said,  "This  we  call  the  father  of 
cowries;  present  it  to  the  king  as  a  token  of  friend- 
ship." 

The  men  were  soon  off  for  the  capital  and  we  settled 
down,  hoping  and  praying  for  the  best.  Kueta  told 
me  that  the  head  man  was  King  Lukenga's  son  and  his 
name  was  NToinzide. 

NToinzide  stood  more  than  six  feet,  of  bronze  color, 
blind  in  one  eye,  determined  set  lips,  and  seemed  a 
man  fearless  of  any  foe  —  man  or  beast.  The  villagers 
told  me  many  things  of  the  king's  son,  both  good  and 
bad. 

After  some  days  the  messengers  reached  the  capital 
and  reported  to  King  Lukenga.  "We  saw  the  foreigner ; 
he  speaks  our  language,  he  knows  all  the  trails  of  the 
country." 

The  king  was  astonished  and  called  a  council  and 
laid  the  matter  before  them.  They  deliberated  over 
the  affair  and  finally  told  the  king  that  they  knew 
who  I  was. 

"The  foreigner  who  is  at  Bixibing,"  said  they,  "who 


A  Great  Kingdom  in  the  Congo         237 

has  come  these  long  trails  and  who  speaks  our  language 
is  a  Makuba,  one  of  the  early  settlers  who  died,  and 
whose  spirit  went  to  a  foreign  country  and  now  he  has 
returned/' 

The  messengers  hastened  to  return  and  accompany 
me  to  the  capital. 

We  had  been  longing  and  praying  for  days  for  the 
best.  With  the  king's  special  envoy  were  many  more 
men  who  had  come  through  mere  curiosity,  as  was  their 
custom. 

N'Toinzide  stood  in  the  center  of  the  town  and 
called  with  his  loud  voice  saying  who  I  was  and  giving 
briefly  my  history. 

The  villagers  were  indeed  happy.  They  flocked 
around  as  the  king's  son  drew  near  and  extended  their 
hands  to  me. 

I  arose  from  my  chair  and  made  these  remarks:  "I 
have  heard  distinctly  all  that  you  have  said,  but  I  am 
not  a  Makuba;  I  have  never  been  here  before." 

N'Toinzide  insisted  that  they  were  right,  and  said 
that  his  father,  the  king,  wanted  me  to  come  on  at 
once  to  the  capital.  The  people  were  mighty  happy, 
Kueta,  our  host,  the  townspeople,  and  my  people,  too. 
Their  appetites  came  back,  and  so  did  mine. 

With  a  hasty  good-bye,  "Gala  hola,"  to  Kueta,  we 
were  off. 

On  the  last  morning  our  trail  grew  larger,  the  coun- 
try more  open,  and  the  ascent  greater,  until  we  stood 


238  The  Upward  Path 

upon  an  extensive  plain  and  had  a  beautiful  view  in 
every  direction  of  all  the  land  as  far  as  we  could  see. 

We  could  see  in  the  distance  thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  banana  and  palm  trees  and  our  escort  of 
Bakuba  cried  out,  ^'Muxenge!  muxenge!"  (meaning 
capital !  capital ! ) .  Just  before  entering  the  great  town 
we  were  halted  at  a  small  guard  post  consisting  of  a 
few  houses  and  some  men  who  were  the  king's  watch- 
men. They  told  me  that  on  each  of  the  four  entrances 
to  the  capital  these  sentries  were  stationed.  A  man 
was  dispatched  to  notify  the  king  that  we  were  near. 
In  a  short  while  the  people  came  out  of  the  town  to 
meet  and  greet  us,  hundreds  of  them,  and  many  little 
children,  too.  Some  of  my  caravan  were  frightened 
and  would  run  away,  but  I  told  them  that  the  oncom- 
ing crowd  meant  no  harm. 

N'Toinzide,  the  king's  son,  with  spear  in  hand,  took 
the  lead  and  the  interested  and  excited  crowd  after 
getting  a  peep  at  me  fell  in  behind. 

We  marched  down  a  broad,  clean  street,  lined  on 
both  sides  by  interested  spectators  jostling,  gesticulat- 
ing, talking  aloud  and  laughing.  The  young  boys  and 
girls  struck  up  a  song  which  sounded  to  me  like  a  band 
of  sweet  music  and  we  all  kept  step  to  it.  N'Toinzide 
called  a  halt  at  a  house  which  I  presume  was  15  x  25 
feet  in  size.  You  could  enter  the  doors  front  and  back 
almost  without  stooping.  The  house  was  made  like 
all  the  others  of  bamboo  and  had  two  rooms.    There 


A  Great  Kingdom  in  the  Congo         239 

were  a  number  of  clay  pots  of  various  sizes  for  cooking 
and  six  large  gourds  for  water.  My  caravan  was 
comfortably  housed.  I  did  not  put  up  my  tent,  but 
took  my  seat  in  a  reclining  chair  under  a  large  palm 
tree  in  front  of  my  door.  The  crowd  was  immense,  but 
we  had  them  sit  down  on  the  ground  so  we  could  get  a 
breath  of  air. 

In  the  afternoon  the  king  sent  greetings,  and 
fourteen  goats,  six  sheep,  a  number  of  chickens,  corn, 
pumpkins,  large  dried  fish,  bushels  of  peanuts,  bunches 
of  bananas  and  plantains  and  a  calabash  of  palm  oil 
and  other  food. 

The  prime  minister,  N'Dola,  who  brought  the  greet- 
ings, mentioned  that  the  king  would  see  me  next  day; 
also  that  the  king's  servants  would  take  out  of  the 
village  all  goats  and  chickens  which  I  did  not  want 
for  immediate  use. 

For,  said  N'Dola,  no  sheep,  goats,  hogs,  dogs,  ducks 
or  chickens  are  allowed  in  the  king's  town. 

In  the  evening  we  started  our  song  service  and  I 
delivered  to  them  our  King's  message.  The  crowd  was 
great.  The  order  was  good.  I  went  to  rest  with  the 
burden  of  these  people  upon  my  heart,  and  thanking 
God  that  He  had  led,  protected  and  brought  us  through 
close  places  safely  to  the  "Forbidden  Land." 

Early  in  the  morning  we  heard  the  blast  of  ivory 
horns  calling  the  attention  of  the  people  to  put  on 
their  best  robes  and  be  in  readiness  for  the  big  parade. 


240  The  Upward  Path 

I  saw  there  was  great  activity  in  the  town,  men  and 
women  hurrying  to  and  fro.  Soon  two  stalwart  Ba- 
kuba,  with  their  red  kilts  on  and  feathers  in  their  hats 
appeared  before  my  house  and  announced  their  readi- 
ness to  accompany  me  before  King  Lukenga. 

They  noticed  an  old  brass  button  tied  by  a  string 
around  the  neck  of  one  of  my  men.  Very  politely  they 
removed  it,  saying,  ''Only  the  king  can  wear  brass  or 
copper." 

I  was  dressed  in  what  had  once  been  white  linen. 
Coat,  trousers,  white  canvas  shoes  and  pith  helmet. 
The  officials  on  either  side  took  me  by  the  arm;  we 
walked  a  block  up  the  broad  street,  turned  to  the 
right  and  walked  three  blocks  till  we  came  to  the  big 
town  square.  Thousands  of  the  villagers  had  already 
taken  their  position  and  were  seated  on  the  green 
grass.  King  Lukenga,  his  high  officials  and  about  300 
of  his  wives  occupied  the  eastern  section  of  the  square. 
The  players  of  stringed  instruments  and  drummers 
were  in  the  center,  and  as  we  appeared  a  great  shout 
went  up  from  the  people.  The  king's  servants  ran  and 
spread  leopard  skins  along  the  ground  leading  to  his 
majesty.  I  approached  with  some  timidity.  The  king 
arose  from  his  throne  of  ivory,  stretched  forth  his 
hand  and  greeted  me  with  these  words,  'Wyni"  (You 
have  come).  I  bowed  low,  clapped  my  hands  in  front 
of  me,  and  answered,  "Ndini,  Nyimi"  (I  have  come, 
king). 


A  Great  Kingdom  in  the  Congo        241 

As  the  drums  beat  and  the  harps  played  the  king's 
sons  entered  the  square  and  danced  one  after  the  other 
single  handed,  brandishing  their  big  knives  in  the  air. 
The  king's  great  chair,  or  throne,  was  made  of  carved 
tusks  of  ivory,  and  his  feet  rested  upon  lion  skins.  I 
judged  him  to  have  been  a  little  more  than  six  feet 
high  and  with  his  crown,  which  was  made  of  eagle 
feathers,  he  towered  over  all.  The  king's  dress  con- 
sisted of  a  red  loin  cloth,  draped  neatly  about  his  waist 
in  many  folds.  He  wore  a  broad  belt  decorated  with 
cowrie  shells  and  beads.  His  armlets  and  anklets  were 
made  of  polished  cowrie  shells  reaching  quite  above 
the  wrists  and  ankles.  These  decorations  were  beau- 
tifully white.  His  feet  were  painted  with  powdered 
canwood,  resembling  morocco  boots.  The  king  weighed 
about  200  pounds.  He  wore  a  pleasant  smile.  He 
looked  to  be  eighty  years  old,  but  he  was  as  active  as 
a  middle-aged  man. 


As  the  sun  was  setting  in  the  west  the  king  stood 
up,  made  a  slight  bow  to  his  people  and  to  me.  His 
slaves  were  ready  with  his  cowrie-studded  hammock 
to  take  him  to  his  place,  for  his  feet  must  never  touch 
the  ground.  His  hammock  was  like  the  body  of  a 
buggy  carried  on  two  long  poles  upon  the  shoulders 
of  many  men.  Through  the  shouts  of  the  people  I 
was  accompanied  back  to  my  resting  place.     It  was 


242  The  Upward  Path 

the  most  brilliant  affair  I  had  seen  in  Africa,  but  my! 
I  was  so  glad  when  it  was  all  over. 

The  town  was  laid  off  east  and  west.  The  broad 
streets  ran  at  right  angles,  and  there  were  blocks  just 
as  in  any  town.  Those  in  a  block  were  always  related 
in  some  way.  Around  each  house  is  a  court  and  a  high 
fence  made  of  heavy  matting  of  palm  leaves,  and 
around  each  block  there  is  also  a  high  fence,  so  you 
enter  these  homes  by  the  many  gates.  Each  block 
has  a  chief  called  Mbambi,  and  he  is  responsible  to 
King  Lukenga  for  his  block.  When  the  king  will  de- 
liver a  message  to  the  whole  village  or  part  of  it,  these 
chiefs  are  sent  for  and  during  the  early  evenings  they 
ring  their  iron  hand  bells  and  call  out  in  a  loud  voice 
the  message  in  five  minutes.  The  king  desired  of  his 
own  heart  to  give  me  peanuts  for  my  people.  I  heard 
the  messengers  delivering  the  word  and  the  next  morn- 
ing we  had  more  peanuts  than  we  could  manage. 

There  was  not  a  visible  light  anywhere  in  the  whole 
town.  "A  chunk  or  two"  is  always  kept  smouldering 
in  the  center  of  the  house  on  the  clay  floor.  The  house- 
wife is  always  careful  to  have  a  handful  of  split  dry 
bamboo  near,  and  when  anyone  is  stung  by  a  scor- 
pion or  snake  (which  often  happens)  they  start  up  a 
blaze  and  hunt  for  the  intruder  and  medicine. 

When  there  is  neither  moon  nor  stars  it  is  truly  a 
land  of  awful  darkness,  and  is  made  more  dismal  by 
the  yelping  of  the  jackal  on  the  plain.     The  moon 


A  Great  Kingdoin  in  the  Congo         243 

shines  more  brightly  and  beautifully  than  on  Lukenga's 
plain.  And  the  beauty  is  enhanced  by  the  thousands 
of  majestic  palms,  and  the  singing  of  birds  with  voices 
like  the  mocking  bird  and  the  nightingale.  I  have  sat 
in  front  of  my  house  moonlight  nights  until  12  and 
1  o'clock. 

Every  morning  the  "courts''  and  streets  were  swept. 
Men  who  had  committed  some  offense  were  compelled 
to  pull  weeds  and  sweep  the  streets  clean. 

There  is  a  rule  in  all  Bakuba  villages  that  every  man 
every  day  sweep  before  his  own  door.  The  only  lit- 
tered places  I  observed  were  at  the  four  public  en- 
trances of  the  town  where  markets  were  held  daily  at 
6  A.M.,  12  noon  and  5  p.m.  —  sugar  cane,  pulp,  banana 
and  plantain  peelings,  and  peanut  shells. 

When  the  king's  drum  taps  the  signal  about  9  p.m. 
at  the  conclusion  of  the  sleep  song  there  is  not  a  sound 
again  in  the  whole  village. 

All  the  natives  we  have  met  in  the  Kasal  are,  on  the 
whole,  honest.  Our  private  dwellings  have  never  been 
locked  day  or  night.  Your  pocketbook  is  a  sack  of 
cowries  or  salt  tied  at  the  mouth  with  a  string.  But 
now  and  then  something  happens.  N'susa,  one  of  the 
boys  of  my  caravan,  misappropriated  some  cowries.  I 
called  him  (in  the  presence  of  two  witnesses)  in  ques- 
tion about  the  matter.  He  acknowledged  removing  the 
shells  and  innocently  remarked,  "You  are  the  same  as 
my  father,  and  what  is  his  is  mine." 


244  The  Upward  Path 

From  the  great  Lukenga  plateau  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  look  you  see  villages  dotted  everywhere.  You 
never  find  a  family  living  alone  isolated  from  the 
village.  The  people  live  together  for  mutual  protec- 
tion from  enemies  and  animals.  And  usually  every- 
body in  a  village  is  related  in  some  near  or  distant  way; 
but  it  does  not  keep  them  from  fighting  occasionally. 

The  Bakuba  are  monogamists.  A  young  man  sees 
a  girl  whom  he  likes;  he  has  met  her  in  his  own  town 
or  at  some  other,  or  perhaps  at  a  market  place  or  a 
dance.  He  sends  her  tokens  of  love,  bananas,  plan- 
tains, peanuts,  dried  fish  or  grasshoppers.  She  in  turn 
sends  him  similar  presents. 

They  often  meet,  sit  down  on  the  green,  laugh  and 
talk  together.  I  have  seen  the  girls  often  blush  and 
really  put  on  airs.  He  asks  her  to  have  him,  if  she 
has  no  one  else  on  her  heart,  and  tells  her  that  he  wants 
no  one  to  eat  the  crop  that  is  in  the  field  but  her.  The 
girl  and  the  parents  both  agree. 

On  a  set  day  when  the  market  is  in  full  blast,  with 
hundreds  of  people  from  everywhere,  the  young  man 
and  girl,  with  their  young  friends,  all  dressed  in  their 
best  robes,  meet  and  march  Indian  file  through  the 
open  market  and  receive  congratulations  from  every- 
body. 

The  new  bride  and  groom  continue  their  march  to 
the  already  prepared  house  of  the  young  man.  A 
feast  of  goat,  sheep,  monkey,  chicken  or  fish,  with 


A  Great  Kingdom  in  the  Congo        245 

plenty  of  palm  wine  is  served  and  all  is  ended  with  a 
big  dance. 

The  women  of  the  king's  household  select  their  own 
husbands,  and  no  man  dare  decline ;  and  no  man  would 
ever  be  so  rude  or  presumptuous  as  to  ask  for  the  hand 
and  heart  of  royalty. 

The  husband  knows  that  he  must  cut  down  the 
forest  and  assist  in  planting  corn,  millet,  beans,  pease, 
sweet  potatoes  and  tobacco,  hunt  for  game,  bring  the 
palm  wine,  palm  nuts,  make  his  wife's  garments  and 
repair  the  house.  He  is  never  to  be  out  after  8  o'clock 
at  night  unless  sitting  up  at  a  wake  or  taking  part  in 
a  public  town  dance. 

The  young  man  before  marriage  sends  a  certain 
number  of  well-woven  mats  and  so  many  thousands 
of  cowries  to  the  parents  of  the  girl  as  a  dowry.  If  they 
cease  to  love  and  must  part,  even  twenty  rainy  seasons 
from  marriage,  the  dowry  or  its  equivalent  is  returned 
to  the  man. 

The  wife  is  expected  to  shave  and  anoint  the  hus- 
band's body  with  palm  oil,  keep  his  toenails  and  fin- 
gernails manicured,  bring  water  and  wood,  help  in  the 
field,  cook  his  food,  and  take  care  of  the  children. 

I  have  had  many  a  man  come  and  ask  to  buy  love 
medicine.  They  think  charms  and  medicine  can  do 
anything.  I  always  told  them,  of  course,  that  it  was 
a  matter  of  the  girl's  heart,  and  charms  or  medicine 
could  not  help  out  in  their  "love  affairs." 


246  The  Upward  Path 

The  Bakuba  are  morally  a  splendid  people.  I  have 
asked  a  number  of  Bakuba  what  was  their  real  ideal 
of  life,  and  they  invariably  answered  to  have  a  big 
corn  j&eld,  marry  a  good  wife,  and  have  many  children. 

We  were  astounded  when  we  saw  the  first  new-born 
baby.  It  was  so  very  light.  But  in  a  few  weeks  the 
youngster  rallied  to  his  colors  and  we  were  assured 
that  he  would  never  change  again. 

No  baby  is  born  in  the  regularly  occupied  house.  A 
small  house  is  built  in  the  back  yard  and  is  surrounded 
by  a  fence  of  palm  fronds.  No  one  is  admitted  into  the 
enclosure  but  a  few  women.  The  new  youngster  re- 
ceives a  bath  of  palm  oil,  then  the  notice  is  given  and 
all  the  friends  of  the  family  with  jugs  of  cold  water 
vie  with  each  other  in  giving  mother  and  baby  a  shower 
bath.  The  drums  beat  and  the  dance  in  water  and 
mud  continues  for  hours. 

Until  you  get  accustomed  to  it  you  would  be  horri- 
fied to  see  the  mothers  stuff  their  young  babies.  The 
mother  nurses  the  baby  just  as  any  mother,  but  she 
doesn't  think  that  sufficient.  So  she  has  by  her  side 
a  small  pot  of  soft  corn  pone  and  a  pot  of  water  or 
palm  oil.  She  makes  a  large  pill  from  the  pone,  dips 
it  in  the  water  or  oil,  and  while  the  baby  is  lying  on 
his  back  in  her  lap  these  pills  are  dropped  in  its  mouth. 
Then  the  mother  uses  the  forefinger  to  force  the  col- 
lection of  pills  down  its  throat.  As  the  baby  resists 
and  kicks,  water  is  poured  down  its  throat  to  facili- 


A  Great  Kingdom  in  the  Congo         247 

tate  the  process.  If  the  baby  strangles,  the  mother 
will  shake  him  up  and  down  a  few  times.  When  the 
feeding  is  over,  he  certainly  looks  ''stuffed." 

The  Bakuba  children  have  many  games  and  but 
few  toys.  The  girls  have  wooden  dolls  made  by  their 
fathers,  and  the  boys  make  from  bamboo  bows  and 
arrows.  They  shoot  mice,  lizards,  grasshoppers, 
crickets,  caterpillars,  butterflies,  lightning  bugs,  etc. 

They  make  mud  pies  and  play  market,  and  tie  the 
legs  of  May  and  June  bugs  to  see  them  fly  around  and 
buzz.  They  love  to  play  housekeeping.  They  are 
also  trained  to  do  some  work,  as  bringing  wood,  sweep- 
ing or  looking  after  the  younger  ones.  There  are  no 
knives,  forks  or  dishes  to  wash. 

''Baby  talk"  is  not  used  and  the  parents  speak  to 
the  babies  just  as  though  they  were  speaking  to 
grown-ups. 

I  have  seen  the  children  in  the  streets  drawing  with 
a  pointed  stick  or  their  finger  on  the  smooth  sand,  men, 
leopards,  monkeys,  crocodiles,  birds,  snakes  and  other 
animals. 

The  boys  make  a  heap  of  clay  and  sod  it,  and  with 
great  speed  run  upon  it  and  turn  a  somersault,  lighting 
on  their  feet.  A  string  of  them  together  will  play 
"leap  frog,"  and  hide-and-seek  is  great  sport  with 
them.    In  all  these  amusements  they  keep  up  a  song. 

There  is  one  thing  you  will  certainly  see  them  do- 
ing, both  boys  and  girls,  and  that  is  beating  their 


248  The  Upward  Path 

clenched  fists  into  the  hard  clay  just  as  hard  as  they 
can  drive.  A  year  later  you  will  see  them  driving  their 
knuckles  against  a  log  or  a  tree.  In  this  way  they  be- 
come hardened  and  are  used  as  a  weapon  in  fights 
when  they  are  grown.  And,  too,  they  can  butt  like  a 
goat,  so  in  their  family  fights  they  not  only  use  their 
fists  but  their  heads. 

I  spent  hours  at  King  Lukenga's  and  other  villages 
playing  with  the  little  folks  and  trying  to  find  out  what 
they  were  thinking  about.  They  had  a  name  for  the 
sun  and  moon,  names  for  very  brilliant  and  prominent 
stars  and  ordinary  ones.  The  sun  was  the  father  of 
the  heavens,  the  moon  was  his  wife,  and  the  stars  were 
their  children.  The  sun  after  going  down  was  paddled 
around  in  a  very  large  canoe  on  the  great  water  by 
men  who  were  more  than  human  and  started  in  the 
skies  again.  They  knew  that  a  year  was  divided  into 
two  general  seasons,  the  rainy  (eight  moons),  the  dry 
(four  moons) ;  though  even  in  the  rainy  season  it 
doesn't  rain  every  day  and  very  seldom  all  day  at  any 
time;  and  in  the  dry  season  there  is  an  occasional  re- 
freshing shower. 

They  knew  the  names  of  all  the  lakes,  rivers  and 
small  streams.  Roots  that  were  good  for  medicine  or 
to  eat  they  knew.  Flowers  and  ferns  were  called  by 
name.  The  names  of  all  the  many  varieties  of  trees, 
birds  and  animals  they  knew. 

I  was  surprised  to  know  from  Maxamalinge,  the 


A  Great  Kingdom  in  the  Congo        249 

king's  son,  that  every  month  the  kmg  had  all  the  little 
children  of  the  town  before  him  and  he  in  turn  would 
talk  to  them,  as  a  great  and  good  father  to  his  own 
children. 

The  king  would  have  his  servants  give  to  each  boy 
and  girl  a  handful  of  peanuts.  When  they  were  out  of 
the  king's  quarters  there  was  many  a  scrap  over  these 
peanuts. 

I  grew  very  fond  of  Bakuba  and  it  was  reciprocated. 
They  were  the  finest  looking  race  I  had  seen  in  Africa, 
dignified,  graceful,  courageous,  honest,  with  an  open, 
smiling  countenance  and  really  hospitable.  Their 
knowledge  of  weaving,  embroidering,  wood  carving  and 
smelting  was  the  highest  in  equatorial  Africa. 


PILLARS   OF   THE   STATE 

WILLIAM    C.   JASON 

Young  people  are  the  life-blood  of  the  nation,  the 
pillars  of  the  state.  The  future  of  the  world  is  wrapped 
up  in  the  lives  of  its  youth.  As  these  unfold,  the  pages 
of  history  will  tell  the  story  of  deeds  noble  and  base. 
Characters  resplendent  with  jewels  and  ornaments  of 
virtue  will  be  held  up  for  the  admiration  of  the  world 
and  the  emulation  of  generations  not  yet  born.  Others, 
thoughtlessly  or  wilfully  ignoring  the  plain  path  of 
duty,  dwarfed,  blighted,  rejected  of  God  and  man,  will 
be  the  sign -posts  marking  the  road  to  ruin. 


250  The  Upward  Path 

OATH   OF  AFRO-AMERICAN   YOUTH 

KELLY  MILLER 

I  will  never  bring  disgrace  upon  my  race  by  any 
unworthy  deed  or  dishonorable  act.  I  will  live  a  clean, 
decent,  manly  life;  and  will  ever  respect  and  defend 
the  virtue  and  honor  of  womanhood ;  I  will  uphold  and 
obey  the  just  laws  of  my  country  and  of  the  commu- 
nity in  which  I  live,  and  will  encourage  others  to  do 
likewise;  I  will  not  allow  prejudice,  injustice,  insult  or 
outrage  to  cower  my  spirit  or  sour  my  soul;  but  will 
ever  preserve  the  inner  freedom  of  heart  and  con- 
science; I  will  not  allow  myself  to  be  overcome  of 
evil,  but  will  strive  to  overcome  evil  with  good ;  I  will 
endeavor  to  develop  and  exert  the  best  powers  within 
me  for  my  own  personal  improvement,  and  will  strive 
unceasingly  to  quicken  the  sense  of  racial  duty  and  re- 
sponsibility;  I  will  in  all  these  ways  aim  to  uplift  my 
race  so  that,  to  everyone  bound  to  it  by  ties  of  blood,  it 
shall  become  a  bond  of  ennoblement  and  not  a  byword 
of  reproach. 


THE  END 


NOTES 

Bird,  Augusta  —  Born  in  Tennessee.  On  the  clerical  force  of  the 
National  Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Colored  People. 
Contributor  to  the  Brownies  Book. 

Bond,  Scott  —  Bom  in  slavery  in  Mississippi.  Now  a  wealthy 
farmer  in  Madison,  Arkansas. 

Braithwaitb,  William  Beaumont  Stanley  (1878-) —Author 
and  critic;  bom  in  Boston.  Editor  of  "Anthology  of  Magazine 
Verse,"  published  annually,  "The  Book  of  Georgian  Verse," 
"The  Book  of  Restoration  Verse,"  contributor  of  literary  criti- 
cisms to  the  Boston  Transcript  and  magazines. 

Brawley,  Benjamin  Griffith  (1882-)  —  Bom  at  Columbia,  S.C. 
A.B.,  Atlanta  Baptist  College,  1901;  A.B.,  University  of  Chicago, 
1906;  A.M.,  Harv^ard,  1908.  Member  American  Historical  Asso- 
ciation, American  Geographical  Society;  author,  "Negro  in 
Literature  and  Art,"  "Short  History  of  American  Negro"  and 
booklets  of  verse.    Dean  of  Morehouse  College,  Atlanta,  Ga. 

Brown,  William  Wells  (1816-?) — Bom  in  slavery  in  Kentucky. 
Escaped  in  youth  to  the  North.  Prominent  lecturer  in  America 
and  England.  Author  of  "The  Black  Man,"  "Clotelle,"  "The 
Negro  in  the  Rebellion,"  "The  Rising  Sun,"  etc. 

Burleigh,  Alston  W.,  son  of  H.  T.  Burleigh,  the  well-known  com- 
poser of  music. 

Chbsnutt,  Charles  W.  (1858-) — Born  in  Cleveland,  Ohio. 
Admitted  to  the  Ohio  Bar,  1887.  One  of  the  foremost  American 
novelists.-  Author  of  "The  House  behind  the  Cedars,"  "The 
Wife  of  his  Youth,"  "The  Marrow  of  Tradition,"  etc.  Con- 
tributor to  the  Atlantic  Monthly  and  Century  Magazine. 

251 


252  Notes 

CoppiN,  Levi  J.  (1848-)— Born  at  Frederickstown,  Md.  Bishop 
of  African  Methodist  Episcopal  Church.  In  South  Africa.  1900- 
1904.  Author  of  "Observations  of  Persons  and  Things  in  South 
Africa"  and  a  number  of  religious  books.  D.  D.,  Wilberforce 
University,  1889.    Ordained  to  ministry,  1877. 

Cotter,  Joseph  S.  (1861-).  — Educator,  author  of  "Negro  Tales,"  etc. 

Cotter,  Joseph  S.,  Jr.  (1897-1920)  — A  youth  of  great  promise  who 
wrote  on  a  sick  bed.  Author  of  "The  Band  of  Gideon,"  "The 
White  Folks'  Nigger,"  "Out  of  the  Shadows." 

Crogman,  William  H.  (1841-)  —  Bom  on  St.  Martin  Island,  West 
Indies,  A.B.,  A.M.,  Atlanta  University,  1876,  1879;  Litt.  D.,  LL.D., 
Clark  University,  1901.  For  many  years  associated  with  Clark 
University,  Atlanta,  Ga.,  as  president  and  professor.  Member  of 
the  American  Philosophical  Association. 

Cromwell,  James  W.  (1846-) — Born  Portsmouth,  Va.  LL.B., 
Harvard  1874;  hon.  A.M.  Wilberforce  University,  1914.  Ad- 
mitted to  Bar,  District  of  Columbia,  1874.  First  colored  lawyer 
to  appear  before  Interstate  Commerce  Commission.  Principal 
Crummell  School,  Washington,  D.C.;  Secretary,  American  Negro 
Academy.    Author  of  "The  Negro  in  American  History,"  etc. 

Douglass,  Frederick  (1817-1895) — Escaped  from  Maryland  as  a 
slave  when  a  young  man.  Lectured  on  abolition  in  England 
and  America.  A  noble  orator,  a  clear  thinker,  and  an  un- 
tiring advocate  of  the  rights  of  man.  Published  an  auto- 
biography in  many  editions. 

Du  Bois,  W.  E.  Burghardt  (1868-)— Born  in  Great  Barrington, 
Mass.  A.B.,  Fisk  LTniversity;  A.B.  and  Ph.D.,  Harvard.  Scholar; 
editor  of  "The  Crisis";  author  of  "The  Suppression  of  the 
Slave  Trade."  "The  Souls   of  Black  Folk,"  "Darkwater,"  etc. 

Dunbar,  Paul  Laurence  (1872-1906) — Born  in  Dayton,  Ohio. 
Poet;  author  of  "Oak  and  Ivy,"  "Majors  and  Minors,"  "Lyrics 
of  Lowly  Life,"  "The  Uncalled,"  "The  Sport  of  the  Gods,"  etc. 
Dunbar  stands  in  the  forefront  among  American  poets. 


Notes  253 

Edwards,  William  J.  — A  Tuskegee  graduate  who  founded  the  Snow 
Hill  School,  one  of  most  important  industrial  schools  of  the  coun- 
try.   Author  of  "Twenty-Five  Years  in  the  Black  Belt,"  etc. 

Elus,  George  W.  (1875-1920)  —Lawyer  and  author.  While  serving 
on  the  American  Legation  to  Liberia,  he  studied  the  languages 
and  customs  of  the  tribes  of  West  Africa,  and  wrote  his  books 
on  this  subject. 

Fauset,  Jessie  R.— AJB.,  Cornell,  A.M.,  Pennsylvania.  Associate 
editor  of  "The  Crisis"  and  the  "Brownies'  Book."  Author  of 
short  stories  and  verses. 

Fisher,  Ruth  Anna  —  A. B.,  Oberlin  College.  Has  engaged  in  teach- 
ing and  social  ser\'ice  work. 

Flipper,  Henry  Ossian  —  Served  as  lieutenant  in  American  Army. 
Student  and  translator  of  Spanish. 

Floyd,  Silas  X.  (1869-)  —  A.B.,  A.M.,  Atlanta  University,  1891, 
1894;  D.D.  Morris  Brown  College,  1903.  Principal  of  a  school  in 
Augusta,  Ga.  Author  of  "Floyd's  Flowers,"  etc.  Member, 
American  Association  Political  and  Social  Science  and  American 
Historical  Association. 

Grimkb,  Angelina  —  Teacher  in  the  public  schools  of  Washington, 
D.C.;  author  of  "Rachel,"  etc. 

Hackley,  Azaua  —  Musician,  pupil  of  Jean  de  Reszke.  Very  success- 
ful teacher  and  conductor  of  choruses. 

Henson,  Matthew  A.  —  Began  life  as  a  cabin  boy.  Twenty-three 
years  Peary's  companion.  He  was  with  him  at  the  North  Pole. 
Thoroughly  acquainted  with  life  customs  and  languages  of  the 
Eskimos. 

Holtzclaw,  Wiluam  H.  —  A  Tuskegee  graduate  who  founded  the 
Utica  Normal  and  Industrial  Institute  in  Mississippi;  author  of 
"The  Black  Man's  Burden,"  etc. 

Jamieson,  R.  C.  (1888-1918)— Bom,  Winchester,  Tenn.  Educated 
at  Fisk  University.    Author,  contributor  to  "The  Crisis." 


254  Notes 

Johnson,  James  Weldon  —  Poet  and  diplomat.  At  one  time  Ameri- 
can Consul  at  Puerto  Cabello,  Venezuela  and  Nicaragua.  Author 
of  "Fifty  Years  and  Other  Poems,"  ''An  Autobiography  of  an  Ex- 
Colored  Man."  Field  Secretary  of  the  National  Association  for 
the  Advancement  of  Colored  People. 

Jones,  E.  S.  —  Author  of  "The  Sylvan  Cabin  and  Other  Poems." 

Milij:r,  Kelly  (1863-)— Born  at  Winnsboro,  S.C.  A.M.,  LL.D., 
Howard  University,  1901,  1903.  Dean,  College  of  Arts  and 
Sciences,  Howard  University.  Lecturer  on  race  problem. 
Member  Academy  Political  and  Social  Science,  American 
Social  Science  Association,  American  Association  for  the  Ad- 
vancement of  Science.  Author  "Race  Adjustment,"  "Out  of  the 
House  of  Bondage";  wrote  chapter  on  "Education  of  the  Negro" 
in  report  of  U.S.  Bureau  of  Education,  1901.  Contributor  to 
magazines  and  newspapers. 

Pendelton,  Leila  A.  — Teacher  in  Washington  Public  Schools  for 
many  years.  Author  of  "A  Narrative  of  the  Negro,"  "An 
Alphabet  for  Negro  Children,"  etc. 

Pickens,  William  (1881-) — Born  in  Anderson  Co.,  S.C.  A3., 
Talledaga  College,  1902;  A.B.,  Yale,  1904;  A.M.,  Fisk,  1908. 
Won  the  Ten  Eyck  prize  for  oratory,  Yale,  1913.  Educator  and 
lecturer.  Formerly  Dean  of  Morgan  College,  Baltimore.  Asso- 
ciate Field  Secretary  for  the  National  Association  for  the  Ad- 
vancement of  Colored  People.  Author  of  "The  New  Negro," 
"The  Spirit  of  Freedom,"  etc. 

Scott,  Emmett  J.  (1873-)— Bom  at  Houston,  Texas.  Wiley 
University,  1905.  Secretary  of  Howard  University.  Appointed 
a  member  of  American  Commission  to  Liberia,  1919,  by  Presi- 
dent Taft.  Assistant  to  Secretary  of  War,  1914-18.  Author, 
"The  American  Negro  in  the  World  War,"  etc. 

Shepard,  James  E.  (1875-) — Born,  Lehigh,  N.C.  Author,  lecturer, 
founder  of  Religious  Training  School  at  Durham,  N.C.  Has 
traveled  in  Europe,  Africa  and  Asia. 

Sheppard,  William  Henry  (1865-)  — Bom  at  Waynesboro,  Va.  Sent 
by  Southern  Presbyterian  church  as  missionary  to  Africa,  1890. 
Exposed  to  the  Congo  atrocities.  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Geo- 
graphical Society. 


NoUs  255 

Simmons,  William  J.  (184^?) — Bom  in  Charleston,  S.C.  Boy- 
hood of  severe  poverty.  A3.,  Howard  University,  1873.  Educa- 
tor, editor,  minister,  author  "His  Men  of  Mark"  which  contains 
biographies  of  177  colored  men. 

Stafford,  O.  O.  —  Principal  of  Lincoln  Public  School,  Washington, 
D.C.   Author  of  "Animal  Fables." 

Washington,  Booker  T.  (1858-1915) — Bom  in  slavery.  Graduated 
at  Hampton  Institute.  Founded  Tuskegee  Institute.  One  of 
the  foremost  educators  America  has  produced.  Author  of  *'Up 
from  Slavery,"  "Working  with  the  Hands,"  etc. 

Wheatley,  Phyllis  (1753-1784) — Brought  to  Boston  as  a  slave  in 
her  childhood.  Kindly  treated  and  educated;  became  one  of 
America's  well  known  poets  of  the  early  period. 

White,  Walter,  F.  —  Graduate  of  Atlanta  University.  Assistant 
Secretary  of  the  National  Association  for  the  Advancement  of 
Colored  People. 

Witten,  Lillian  B.  —  Graduate  Smith  College.  Teacher  in  the  St. 
Louis  High  School. 


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